


The Butterfly Effect: Attack of the Clones

by jack_hunter



Series: The Butterfly Effect [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin is still the chosen one, Canon Rewrite, Dad!Obi-Wan Kenobi, F/M, Fluff, Force-Sensitive Padmé Amidala, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Padmé Amidala, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Senator Anakin Skywalker, Shmi Skywalker Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_hunter/pseuds/jack_hunter
Summary: When you look up the term “Butterfly Effect” in the Temple Archives, many examples from across history will appear with explanations written by many Jedi Scholars, but I believe that Master Eno Cordova sums it up the best with the simple phrase, “a butterfly flapping its wings on Lothal can cause a hurricane on Chandrila”. The Butterfly Effect is where one small incident can have a drastic effect in the Galaxy around it.In this AU I explore what could have been if Padmé had been raised a member of the Jedi Order and Anakin was never found on Tatooine at the age of nine. This reversal of roles can lead to a drastic change in history, one that could even, potentially, change the outcome of the Clone Wars.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: The Butterfly Effect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764430
Comments: 31
Kudos: 144





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenix Nest Discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Phoenix+Nest+Discord).



> All spelling mistakes are my own.

_Excerpt of his mother’s private journal given to the Jedi Archives by Senator L. Skywalker._

When you look up the term “Butterfly Effect” in the Temple Archives, many examples from across history will appear with explanations written by many Jedi Scholars, but I believe that Master Eno Cordova sums it up the best with the simple phrase,  _ “a butterfly flapping its wings on Lothal can cause a hurricane on Chandrila” _ . The Butterfly Effect is where one small incident can have a drastic effect in the Galaxy around it. 

Consider this: a ship is running low on fuel and must choose between two planets to stop on, a desert planet, or an oceanic planet. One may think that this single ship would have no effect on the daily lives of the beings who call these planets home, but that would be an incorrect assumption. When the ship chose to land on the desert planet, it chose a spaceport where the captain met a young boy who looked very hungry. The captain bought this young boy a treat from a market stall, and in return the young boy gave the captain shelter when a sandstorm hit without warning. Once the storm had ended, the captain and the boy parted ways. 

Just five short years later and that young boy would go on to start the Tatooine Slave Revolution, a six-month period of civil war which ended in the Hutts were kicked from the system and slavery being abolished, a constitution being written and signed by the Founders of the Free. That young boy would become known as the Liberator of Tatooine, and just a month later he would introduce Tatooine to the Republic and serve as its first Senator. He would also go on to become a dear friend of mine. 

Now, perhaps it seems that this only affects the Galaxy on a minor scale. After all, Tatooine is an Outer Rim planet with a small population that many overlook. But if you take a closer look at history you would find that as the Clone War progressed, many Republic victories would not have been won if not for this former slave boy. Whether it be because he fought out there on the battlefield himself, or because his lessons on politics inspired my Padawan to see the war from a new angle, or because his determination to protect his people inspired powerful speeches from Senators from all corners of the Galaxy. If not for a ship choosing a desert planet over an aquatic one, the Galaxy could be a completely different place. 

If not for Anakin Skywalker, Liberator and Senator of Tatooine, Freer of Slaves, the Clone War may not have ended in an Armistice. The soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic wouldn’t have been freed from their bonds and given rights and citizenship in the Galaxy. I wouldn’t have my two beautiful children and my husband by my side, or the friends I hold so dear. But perhaps that is enough of my reminiscing for today. We have Obi-Wan and Ahsoka coming for dinner and the twins are excited. Maybe one day I will tell them this story. When they’re old enough to understand. 

Signed, 

_ Padmé Naberrie, Jedi Knight _ .


	2. Prologue

_ There is unrest in the Galactic Senate. Several thousand solar systems have declared their intentions to leave the Republic.  _ _ This Separatist movement, under the leadership of the mysterious Count Dooku, has made it difficult for the limited number of Jedi Knights to maintain peace and order in the galaxy.  _ _ Senator Anakin Skywalker, the famed Liberator of Tatooine, is returning to the Galactic Senate to vote on the critical issue of creating an ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC to assist the overwhelmed Jedi.... _

Of all the ships for a Senator of the Republic to own, a G9  _ Rigger _ -class light freighter from the Correllian shipyards was not one you would think to be on the list, but having rebuilt the ship from the ground up with his own two hands, it was the only ship Senator Skywalker of Tatooine would travel in. It was slow, to say the least, and it’s weapons were sub-par, but with enough space on board for a crew of four and a hyperdrive, there wasn’t much else needed. 

The  _ Victorious  _ exited hyperspace above the city-planet of Coruscant, flanked by two small, one-man starfighters. The co-pilot rose from his seat and headed into the passenger hold, where a man with light brown, neatly-combed hair sat reading a datapad. His light beige travelling poncho hid a simple white tunic and the bottoms of his brown trousers peeked out from where they were tucked into his boots. It was nothing too extravagant, but at the same time, it just screamed “ _ Skywalker _ ”. He was known for being very low-maintenance and independent, his residences both in the Republic's capital and back on his home world bare of anything extravagant or befitting of a Senator. His people praised him for being ‘down-to-earth’ and ‘one of them’, as opposed to holding himself in a higher regard like many other representatives did. Despite his independence, he did have assistance. An aide was packing away items into a small suitcase nearby, the hood of her cloak raised to hide her face. 

“Senator, we are making our final approach into Coruscant,” the co-pilot explained, standing at attention. Senator Skywalker looked up at him and gave a single nod. 

“Very good, Lieutenant,” he replied. The Lieutenant bowed and walked back to the cockpit. The Senator rose and immediately, his aide was by his side adjusting the poncho and putting the datapad away. The Senator gave no fuss and allowed his aide to do her work, 

Outside, the two starfighters led the way through the clouds over Galactic City. A thick fog had covered the planet, not uncommon after one of the larger rainstorms that hit around that time of year, but the  _ Victorious  _ made its way to the landing platform with ease. Around them, Coruscant was as busy as ever with lanes of traffic speeding along, ships and speeders like soaring through the air as people went about their lives. The Federal District would have been in clear view if not for the fog, the iconic Senate Rotunda just a short speeder ride away. On the platform, crew members were awaiting the arrival of the Senator and hurried to prepare for his exit. 

One of the starfighters landed to the left of the Victorious. A pilot in a red and black uniform climbed down the ladder as their white-and-blue astromech beeped and whistled, descending the docking station. Their helmet hid their face, but blue eyes gazed out through the visor as they joined their fellow pilot. The other pilot removed their helmet, revealing darkly tanned skin and unkempt black hair. 

“We made it,” the man spoke to the pilot, tucking his helmet under his arm. Senator Skywalker, flanked by his two pilots and with his aide trailing behind him, descended the ramp of the  _ Victorious _ . “I guess you were wrong. There was no danger at all.” 

Senator Skywalker hadn’t even reached the bottom of the ramp before the Victorious was engulfed in flames, the explosion sending off a shockwave that sent the two starfighter pilots and the ground crew flying to the floor. The  _ Victorious  _ exploded, parts being thrown off of the platform as smoke rose and debris littered the area. The starfighter pilots struggled to their feet, taking a moment to gather themselves before the helmeted pilot went running to Senator Skywalker’s side. The other pilot drew his blaster. 

Senator Skywalker lay in a heap of charred clothes and blood splatters. The pilot tore off his helmet. Shaggy light brown hair fell in front of his eyes and he quickly pushed it away before scooping the Senator up into his arms. “Kalen,” he breathed out, a hand cupping the man’s face. ‘Kalen’ reached a weak hand up to trace the pilot’s cheek. 

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” he stuttered, voice fading as the pilot shook his head, “I failed you, Senator.” 

“No,” the pilot, an in disguise Senator Skywalker, pulled Kalen closer as his eyes closed and the decoy - his  _ friend  _ \- passed in his arms. The other pilot, blaster still in his hand, came to kneel next to the senator. 

“Ani, you’re still in danger, here,” he said, glancing around as he placed a hand on the Senator’s shoulder. Senator Skywalker got to his feet, eyes staring at the deceased man who lay there. 

“I shouldn’t have come back, Kitster,” he muttered, oblivious to the carnage that still reigned around them on the platform. Fire ships had begun to arrive, their sirens wailing. The survivors were struggling to get up, many injured badly. 

“This vote is very important,” Kitster argued, his free arm wrapping around his friend’s shoulders, “you did your duty, Kalen did his. Now, come.” Senator Skywalker didn’t move. “Ani, please!” It took a nudge on the leg from his R2 unit to get the senator moving, the two running from the platform where Kalen and many others lay dead from the barbaric attack.


	3. Chapter One

The Senate Office Building was always busy. With over two-thousand planets as a part of the Galactic Republic, not a day went by when the hallways were not packed with delegates ‘negotiating’ for what is best for their planets (and, unfortunately, their pockets). Senators from all across the Galaxy took up an office there, with foot traffic bustling as meetings were held. It wasn’t just senators. Their assistance ran from floor to floor delivering datapads and reports, protocol droids - among others - scuttled by as they worked on translations and etiquette, guards marched through the building, specially trained to protect those they served. 

The office of the Chancellor was located at the pinnacle of the Senate Office Building. It was a suite of offices and private rooms where the Chancellor would hold meetings, such as the one Chancellor Palpatine was holding with many members of the Jedi Council. Jedi Masters Yoda, Windu, Mundi and Koon sat before the Chancellor’s desk, with Master Fisto and Master Unduli stood to the side. Padawan Offee, Master Unduli’s apprentice, was also in attendance. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold off the vote, my friends,” Chancellor Palpatine explained, “more and more star systems are joining the Separatists.”

“If they do break away,” Master Windu began, but the Chancellor interrupted. 

“I will not let this Republic, that has stood for a thousand years, be split in two,” he stated firmly, “my negotiations will not fail.” Master Windu sat forward in his seat, palms pressed together in the Chancellor’s direction. 

“If they do,” he began again, “you must realise there aren’t enough Jedi to protect the Republic. We are keepers of the peace, not soldiers.” A silence enveloped the room. The Jedi Masters all looked thoughtful, turning to the Force to bring them some sort of enlightenment in the troubling times. 

“Master Yoda,” Palpatine asked, getting the Grandmaster’s attention, “do you really think it will come to war?” The Grandmaster closed his eyes, humming to himself as he frowned. 

“Hmm, the dark side clouds everything,” the small green Jedi spoke, “impossible to see, the future is.” It wasn’t news anyone wanted to hear, especially not the Council. 

A hologram appeared on the Chancellor’s desk of a Rodian. He spoke in Huttese, announcing the arrival of the Loyalist Committee. “Good, send them in,” the Chancellor ordered, and the hologram disappeared. Palpatine rose from his seat as the doors to the Office opened, allowing a group of senators to enter. Master Yoda had already risen from his own seat, hobbling over to greet the new arrivals. “We will discuss this matter later,” Palpatine concluded. The Jedi bowed and made their motion to move, though Master Windu took a moment before doing the same, hand rubbing his mouth in thought. 

The Loyalist Committee, led by Senator Orn Free Taa of Ryloth, was composed of delegates from all different worlds and of all different species. Human, Twi-lek, Rodian, Gran, and more, the political committee had been formed as an advisory body to the Chancellor to handle the Separatist Crisis and promote loyalty to the Republic. 

“Senator Skywalker,” Master Yoda greeted as the Tatooine Senator strode into the room. He had changed into something more formal, more fitting of wearing in the presence of the Chancellor. A long blue robe with matching trousers and a red tunic underneath. Boots and a belt adorned with burnt gold details, simple brown leather gloves, and a flowing red cloak that emphasised his strides. Not a usual look for the  _ Liberator  _ to be seen wearing, but a necessary one. His hair was still a mess, but he didn’t seem to care. “Your tragedy on the landing platform- terrible. Seeing you alive brings warm feelings to my heart.” The Jedi continued, giving Senator Skywalker a polite bow of the head. 

“Do you have any idea who is behind this attack?” Skywalker asked. To his left, Kitster Banai - also having changed from his pilots uniform into a set of simple beige and brown robes - placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Master Windu rose from his seat and joined Master Yoda, Master Mundi doing the same as the other Jedi left the room.

“Our intelligence points to disgruntled moisture farmers in the southern quadrants of Tatooine,” he explained. Skywalker crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I think that Count Dooku was behind it,” he argued. 

“He is a political idealist,” Master Mundi responded plainly, “not a murderer.”

“You know, Senator, that Count Dooku was once a Jedi,” Master Windu continued, “he couldn’t assassinate anyone; it’s not in his character.” Master Windu and Senator Skywalker held each other’s stares, determination behind both. Neither seemed willing to say otherwise of their statements. In the past five years since Anakin Skywalker had made his case for Tatooine to join the Republic and been elected as their Senator, these staring matches became more and more common whenever the younger man found himself in the Jedi Master’s presence or vice versa. 

“But for certain, Senator,” Master Yoda spoke up, earning both of their attention, “in grave danger you are.” Skywalker sighed.

“Master Jedi,” came Chancellor Palpatine’s voice. He stood at the window, staring out at the great city that stretched out as far as the eye could see, “may I suggest that the Senator be placed under the protection of your graces.” 

“Do you really think that is a wise decision under these stressful times?” Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan spoke up from his place next to Skywalker. The younger Senator raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping open. 

“Chancellor, if I may comment, I do not believe-” Skywalker began but was cut off. 

“- the situation is that serious?” Palpatine continued for him, turning to face the Tatooine native. Skywalker snapped his mouth shut, arms still crossed over his chest, “no, but I do, Senator,” Palpatine returned to stand at his desk. Master Yoda had his eyes on the man, brow furrowed. “I realise all too well that additional security might be disruptive for you, but… perhaps someone you’re familiar with? An old friend, like Master Kenobi.” The Chancellor’s kind smile did nothing to deter Skywalker, but it was enough to convince the Council. 

“That’s possible,” Windu commented, “he’s just returned from a border dispute on Ansion.” Skywalker ran a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes as he stepped forward. 

“None of this is necessary,” he argued, voice stern. Anakin had always taken care of himself, of his people. He didn’t need to be babysat by a Jedi. Kitster leaned in to speak into his friend’s ear, words hushed. 

“Ani, please consider it,” he quietly pleaded, “Tatooine needs you. We cannot take another heartbreak.” Skywalker fell silent, only briefly, as he considered his friend’s opinion. Kitster was right. He was always right, that’s why he was Skywalker’s right hand man. His childhood best friend kept him in check. 

“... Alright,” Anakin relented, “but only because it’s Obi-Wan. For the record I still believe this is unnecessary.” Palpatine smiled, and the rest of the Loyalist Committee began to approach him to begin their conference. Master Windu turned to Senator Skywalker. 

“I will have Obi-Wan report to you immediately, Senator,” he said, bowing to the Senator. Skywalker bowed back. 

“Thank you, Master Windu.”

Galactica Heights was not the most prosperous part of Coruscant. The community was just north of the Federal District, not too far east of CoCo Town, and was situated at the end of the Broadway that ran through the Uscru Entertainment District. Unlike the areas around it, Galactica Heights appeared run down and often overlooked by the upper class of the planet. Abandoned houses were boarded up and forgotten about, tagged with graffiti from bored teenagers with nowhere else to go. Housing was expensive and the rent kept going up each year. Those who lived there often struggled to get by, barely making ends meet, but in the community everyone knew everyone and no one was left to suffer. They got by because they helped one another, they banded together. It wasn’t uncommon to see tables brought out as everyone ate dinner together on the streets, sharing what little they had with each other so no one went hungry. At night, you would hear the radios playing music out of the windows, residents singing along in many languages. 

That was why the Skywalker residence resided there. A small apartment on the top floor of one of the many old duracrete structures, the building paled in comparison to the transparisteel edifices around it. From the top floor, the location of the Senator’s apartment, places such as the Senator Rotunda and the Jedi Temple were clearly visible despite the towering skyscrapers around it. Even for the most expensive apartment in the district, it had just two bedrooms and a fairly small communal area. The other two apartments on the floor were for Skywalker’s staff, one for his aide and his personal guard, and the other for Kitster. The people of Galactica Heights adored Senator Skywalker; he would be seen in the market area buying from the local businesses, would greet everyone by name and share stories with them, and each time he could he would bring out a table onto the streets to share his mother’s special recipes with the people of the community. The owner of the general store had memorised his caf order and had it ready for him each morning, the ladies of the salon loved to gossip with him whenever he passed by, even trying to convince him to let them sort out his hair, and the children would invite him to play their games. Galactica Heights had become his home just as much as Tatooine was. 

The elevator up to the Skywalker residence didn’t take too long to get from the ground floor up. Inside, two Jedi rode in silence. One, a man with long auburn hair and a beard, was staring as the other, a young woman with long dark hair tied into four braids, adjusted her robes. The man wore simple beige robes with a long brown cloak, but the woman was dressed in blue and red and she seemed to be fussing over nothing. 

“You seem a little on edge,” the man commented, getting the young woman’s attention. She glanced at him before turning to stare at the closed doors. 

“Not at all, Master,” she replied. The man didn’t buy it. 

“I haven’t felt you this tense since… since we fell into that nest of gundarks,” he remarked. The woman let out a scoff. 

“ _ You _ fell into that nightmare, Master, and I rescued you. Remember?” She gave the man a stare. He turned back to the door, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Oh… yes.” There was silence, only briefly, because soon the two couldn’t stop laughing. The woman reached up to brush loose strands from her forehead, tucking them behind her ear and adjusting her braids. Two braids were looped behind her head, whilst a third wrapped around at the back in the shape of a bun. A fourth, much thinner braid, fell down from behind her right ear and rested against her chest. It was decorated in colourful bands. A brown one for diplomacy and scholarship. A yellow one for lightsaber studies. A green one for the Living Force. 

“Relax, my Padawan” the man told her. The woman rolled her eyes. 

“You know how I feel about politicians, Master,” she argued. 

“You only feel like they all hate you because you’re better at diplomacy than the entire Galactic Senate,” the man argued back. 

“Touché.” The doors to the elevator opened as they reached their stop. The hallway was bare except for the two guards stationed outside the doors at the far end, walls drab yet lit well thanks to the two lights that hung from the ceiling. As the Jedi approached, the two guards stood to attention and the door opened. Kitster exited the apartment, a kind smile on his face. 

“Master Kenobi, it’s been too long!” the young representative greeted with a friendly hand-shake, one Obi-Wan happily reciprocated, “come along inside, Ani is waiting.” The Jedi followed Kitster into the apartment. 

The residence itself was nothing special. The walls were a simple magnolia, the floor was wooden and the furniture basic. A few flat-holos were displayed on the walls and a few personal possessions of the Senator’s were placed on shelves, but there was nothing about the place that screamed anything more than “home”. 

The two Jedi followed Kitster past the dining table and over to the lounge, where Senator Skywalker was sat upside down, legs over the back of the sofa and head dangling close to the floor. He had a datapad in one hand and a stylus in the other, and seemed to be writing. He had a pair of headphones on, music loud enough to be heard through them by the guests he hadn’t noticed had arrived. Kitster sighed, leant down and pulled off the headphones. “Ani!” He shouted into the Senator’s ear, making him jump and nearly knock his head on the low table. Senator Skywalker gave Kitster a glare, but when he saw the Jedi that glare changed to a smile. 

“Obi-Wan!” He all but cried, spinning right-side up and rising to his feet. Obi-Wan bowed, but Skywalker threw his arms around the Jedi with a laugh. 

“It’s good to see you too, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chuckled, hugging the younger man back. He pulled away and turned to his padawan, who quickly shuffled next to her master, “allow me to introduce my padawan, Padmé Naberrie.” Padmé bowed respectfully to the Senator. 

“Yes, I think we have met before,” Anakin said, biting his lip as he thought, “my first day at the Senate Rotunda, I believe?”

“Yes, Senator,” Padmé agreed, “we bumped into each other, quite literally,” she averted her gaze momentarily, “you called me an ‘angel’.” Anakin went a little red. 

“Ah, yes, now I remember,” he scratched the back of his neck as he sat down on the sofa, the two Jedi sitting opposite. Anakin’s aide went over to the kitchen and began to prepare some drinks. 

“Our presence here will be invisible, Anakin, I can assure you,” Obi-Wan informed him. 

“I’m grateful that you are here, Master Kenobi; the situation is far more dangerous than Ani will admit,” Kitster explained. Anakin rolled his eyes and slumped back against the sofa. 

“I don’t need more security, I need answers,” he argued, “I want to know who’s trying to kill me, and preferably before they manage to succeed.” The Aide came back with a tray of drinks, offering one each to the two Jedi who accepted. 

“We’re here to protect you, not start an investigation,” Obi-Wan replied. 

“But we will do everything in our power to keep you safe,” Padmé went on, “and should any new evidence arise, we will report it to the Council.” Obi-Wan turned to look at his Padawan, opening his mouth to chastise her, but he stopped as he saw the look in Padmé’s eyes. Her diplomat side was coming out. It was either going to go very well, or very badly. As august as ever, Padmé smiled kindly and clasped her hands together on her knees, “perhaps merely with our presence, the mystery surrounding this threat will be revealed.” Anakin seemed to consider her words for a moment, but eventually he nodded. 

“Perhaps you are right,” he agreed, rising to his feet. Everyone else rose with him, “now, if you will excuse me, I will retire.” Anakin left with his aide following behind, the door to his bedroom closing with a  _ click _ .

“I know I’ll feel better having you here,” Kitster admitted, “I’ll have an officer stationed on every floor and I will be in the apartment on the left of the hall.” With a bow, Kitster left. 

Obi-Wan turned back to Padmé, who was staring at the door that Senator Skywalker disappeared behind. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was fiddling with the end of her Padawan braid. “I don’t think he likes me,” she said to her master, “I might have made him uncomfortable.”

“You’re focusing on the negative, Padmé, be mindful of your thoughts,” Obi-Wan instructed not too sternly, but he smiled, “he was  _ pleased  _ to see us, I can assure you of that. Now, let’s check the security.” 


	4. Chapter Two

At night, Coruscant felt like a completely different city. The blinding lights made it feel like the City never slept, partying all through the witching hour until the sun began to rise over the horizon, but the dark brought about crime and danger as pickpockets and thieves for to work stealing from the drunken party-goers. Predators lurked in the shadows for the women who had perhaps had just one too many shots of Corellian vodka, scum was everywhere as cantinas became filled with the worst of Coruscant’s underworld. 

Down the Broadway of the  Uscru Entertainment District, a speeder came to a stop on a balcony next to some bright advertisements. Out hopped a figure dressed in purple, a piece of cloth dangling from her helmet. She approached the shadows, where a figure in berserker-forged armour hid. “I hit the ship, but they used a decoy,” a female voice spoke. 

“We’ll have to try something more subtle this time, Zam,” the figure in the shadows responded, their own voice altered by the helmet they wore. “My client is getting impatient. Take these,” the figure held out a clear cylindrical tube for the woman to take. Inside, two strange creatures with hundreds of legs scuttled about. “Be careful, they’re very poisonous.” Zam took the container and turned to head back to her speeder. “Zam!” The figure called, making Zam turn back to them, “there can be no mistakes this time.” Zam wrapped the cloth over her face, leaving just her eyes shown. 

Obi-Wan walked into the apartment from the hallway, the door sliding closed behind him. Padmé stood at the entrance to the small balcony, the transparisteel doors closed but the blinds slightly parted to allow her to look out. She had shed her cloak, the red fabric neatly draped over the back of a chair at the dining table. “Kitster has more than enough men downstairs, no assassin would try that way” Obi-Wan announced as he removed his own cloak, laying it over the arm of the sofa, “any activity up here?”

“Quiet as a tomb,” Padmé replied, turning to meet her Master. Obi-Wan reached into his robes and pulled out a small device, “I don’t like just waiting around for something to happen to him,” she admitted as Obi-Wan fiddled with the device, his brow furrowing. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, more to the device. 

“Ah, he covered the cameras,” Padmé admitted, “I don’t think he likes us watching him sleep.” Obi-Wan let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Of course he did,” the Jedi muttered, striding over to the bedroom doors, “what was he thinking?”

“He’s programmed R2-D2 to warn us if there is an intruder,” the padawan added as Obi-Wan stopped just short of the door controls.

“There are other ways to kill a senator,” The Jedi Knight commented. 

“I know, but we also want to catch this assassin, don’t we, Master?” Obi-Wan turned back to his padawan, realisation lighting his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You’re using him as bait.”

“It was his idea,” Padmé clarified, holding her hands up in defence of herself as she stared at the doors, “don’t worry, no harm will come to him. I can sense everything going on in that room. Trust me.” Obi-Wan frowned, turning back to also stare at the bedroom doors. 

“It’s too risky,” he argued, “and besides, your senses are not that attuned, my young apprentice.” Padmé turned, eyes all but glaring into the back of her master’s head.

“And yours are?” Obi-Wan slowly turned his head to look at Padmé, face expressionless. 

“Possibly.”

Over at the Broadway, Zam placed the cylinder into the nose of a probe droid. The droid took off, flying through the air out of the Entertainment District towards Galactica Heights. 

Padmé stood at the windows again, looking out at the city below them. Her eyes were drooping and shoulders slumped, a yawn just barely being stifled. 

“If you’re tired, you should get some rest,” Obi-Wan told his padawan from where he sat on the lounge chair. Padmé shook her head. 

“I’ll be fine, Master,” she insisted, but paused before turning around to meet his eyes, “I… don’t sleep well anymore. Not since I met…” 

“... since you met your sister?” Obi-Wan finished. Padmé nodded meekly. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat and sighing. 

“I didn’t think I had a family outside of the Order,” she admitted, rubbing her hands together in her lap, “it never crossed my mind. Then Sola became the Senator of Naboo and... I don’t know why I keep dreaming about her.”

Obi-Wan leant forwards and placed his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin. “Dreams pass in time,” he told his padawan, who let out a small scoff. 

“Well, I’d much rather dream about anything else,” she said rather curtly, rising again to this time head towards the kitchen. She grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with water, taking a sip. 

“... like a certain Senator from Tatooine?” Padmé choked on her drink at her master’s words, the water spluttering a little from her mouth. She quickly wiped it on her sleeve, earning her a glare from Obi-Wan. 

“What would give you that idea?” she asked him, reaching for a cloth to clear up the light spillage on the counter. 

“Be mindful of your thoughts, Padmé, they betray you,” Obi-Wan told her. Padmé rolled her eyes and immediately slammed her shields up, blocking the emotions she hadn’t realised she was leaking through into the training bond the two shared. She could feel her master’s humour seeping through into her mind and she sent him a glare as her master’s lecture began. “you have made a commitment to the Jedi Order, a commitment not easily broken, and don’t forget that he is a politician.” 

“He seems different from the rest.  _ You  _ trust him.”

“Because I’ve known him since he was a boy. He is different, yes, truly believing in doing what is best for his people instead of what is best for his own pockets, but he will put his loyalty to Tatooine above all else.”

“Please not another lecture,” Padmé groaned, “at least not on the economics of politics.”

The voices of the two Jedi carried into the bedroom where Senator Skywalker slept, not loud enough to disturb him. The bedroom wasn’t like the rest of the apartment. It was littered with personal belongings of the Senator, mostly clothes that needed to either be hung up or sent to the laundry, or spare parts from whatever piece of machinery Anakin was attempting to fix in what little free time he had. One of his pillows had tumbled onto the floor and his blanket was half falling off of the bed and half covering Anakin as he starfished out and snored. R2-D2 was on low-power mode in the corner by his charging station. All of the windows were closed, the blinds had been drawn and what little light crept in from the outside was not enough to wake the senator up. Not even the humming of a probe droid as it carefully hovered past the windows, getting closer and closer. Green lasers opened up a square in the transparisteel, a small circle just big enough for the opening of a cylindrical canister to slip through was cut and when the container opened, out the two horrid creatures crawled. They slipped through the blinds and dropped to the hardwood floor with two plops, their legs scurrying them away towards the bed. Anakin kept snoring, blissfully oblivious to the danger approaching as the bugs slithered up the bed posts and onto the sheets. 

R2-D2 whirred to life as his motion sensor that had been placed on the floor was triggered. He quietly beeped, flashing the scanner across the room, but there was nothing to be found. Anakin turned over on his bed, curling up a bit before he continued to snore. R2-D2 went back to low-power mode. The bugs continued to climb up the sheets. 

Outside in the living area, the two Jedi were still arguing politics. “And besides, you’re generalising,” Padmé insisted, “the Chancellor doesn’t appear to be corrupt.”

“Palpatine is a politician,” Obi-Wan stated, “I have observed that he is very clever in following the passions and prejudices of the senators.” 

“I think he’s a good man. My-” Both Jedi snapped their attention to the bedroom door. 

“I sense it too,” Obi-Wan said. They took off running. 

The creatures were crawling closer to Anakin’s face, the senator still fast asleep. The doors slammed open and a green lightsaber ignited, Padmé wielding the blade as she jumped onto the bed and sliced the creatures in two, both flying against the wall. Anakin snapped awake, shooting upwards just in time to see Obi-Wan go crashing out of the window, latching on to the fleeing probe droid that carried him away into the city. 

“Stay here,” Padmé ordered, running from the room just as Kitster, Anakin’s aid and two guards ran inside. 

The probe droid kept flying through the skies of Coruscant as Obi-Wan clung to it as tightly as he could. If constantly being bumped into the walls of buildings or near-misses with speeders didn’t kill him, the fall if he lost his grip certainly would. Unbeknown to him, Padmé had jumped into the first open-topped speeder she could find and took to the skies after her mentor, caring little for traffic regulations. 

The probe droid kept flying further and further away from Galactica Heights into the busier parts of the city. More and more speeders began to litter the flight lanes and the droid didn’t care, flying against the traffic and forcing them out of its way or risk a crash. 

Zam stood waiting by her own speeder, macrobinoculars of her helmet down as she scanned the skies for the droid. Upon seeing the Jedi, she reached for her rifle and aimed it. The shot didn’t miss. Knocking the probe droid from his hands, Obi-Wan began to fall through the air towards the ground level of the planet, the surface getting closer and closer with each passing second. Zam sped off in her speeder. 

Padmé caught up with her master eventually, following his falling form down until she was able to maneuver the speeder under him. Obi-Wan landed with a thud, gripping the backs of the seats tightly to pull himself into the passenger chair. 

“What took you so long?” he asked. Padmé shrugged. 

“Oh, you know, Master. I couldn’t find a speeder I liked,” she responded, sarcasm dripping in her voice as she followed Obi-Wan’s directions, “with the open cockpit and the right speed capabilities, and other things I don’t care about because mechanical engineering is boring.”

“If you spent as much time practising your saber techniques as you do your wit, you would rival Master Yoda as a swordsman,” Obi-Wan snarked, gasping as Padmé put the pedal to the metal and thrust the speeder into full throttle. She may hate fixing ships but there was no denying her skill at flying them. 

“I thought I already did,”

“Only in your mind, my very young apprentice.” 

The assassin’s speeder was directly ahead of them, weaving in and out of the traffic and spinning around in an attempt to throw the Jedi off of her trail. It wasn’t working, Padmé was too skilled for that. Both speeders began a steep dive down, but as the assassin swerved to avoid crashing into the building below them, Padmé didn’t. “Pull up, Padmé. Pull up!” Obi-Wan shouted over the roaring wind and Padmé’s gleeful cackles. She did pull up, at the very last second, and continued to follow the assassin. 

“You know I don’t like it when you do that,” Obi-Wan told her. 

“Sorry Master, I forgot you don’t like flying,” Padmé commented as she smiled and steered their speeder around the traffic. 

“I don’t mind flying, but what you’re doing is suicide!” Obi-Wan exclaimed as a speeder nearly hit them, skimming past by mere inches. 

“Well, you taught me to fly!” Padmé retorted. 

Their speeder chase took them far from Galactica Heights, right to the factories where fire was shooting out of the exhaust ports. Dodging the flames was a lot more difficult than dodging speeders but Padmé managed to pull it off with a few maneuvers that made Obi-Wan shout at her. Two shots from a blaster hit a power coupling and bright purple electricity erupted just as the two Jedi sped through it. 

“Padmé! How many times have I told you to stay away from power couplings!” Obi-Wan shouted over the surges of electricity that shot around them, but he wasn’t entirely sure that his padawan was listening anymore. The assassin turned left, but Padmé kept flying straight. Obi-Wan turned behind them, watching the speeder they were chasing disappear into the distance. 

“Where are you going? He went that way!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. 

“Master, if we keep this chase going any longer, that creep is gonna end up deep fried,” Padmé argued, not taking her eyes off of the skies ahead, “and personally I’d very much like to find out who he is and who he is working for. This way is a short cut. I think.”

It wasn’t a shortcut. The assassin Zam kept flying and eventually the Jedi were not on her tail anymore. She removed the cloth hiding her face and smiled in triumph. 

Padmé brought the speeder to a stop in the middle of an intersection, high above any of the traffic lanes. 

“Well, you’ve lost him,” Obi-Wan huffed, crossing his arms, “that was some shortcut, Padmé. He went completely the other way. Once again you have proved-”

“If you’ll excuse me,” his padawan interrupted politely before she jumped out of the speeder and began to freefall down through the traffic. Obi-Wan peered over the edge of the speeder down at her falling form. 

“I hate it when she does that,” he grumbled. 

It wasn’t a coincidence that Padmé landed smack-bang in the middle of the assassin’s speeder, grasping a hold of the exhaust vent for dear life as she tried to climb forwards. Zam accelerated down steeply and nearly through the Jedi off, but Padmé kept her grip and clung to the speeder tighter. The shots from her blaster all missed as Padmé jumped from one side to the other, shuffling closer until she was able to grab a hold of the edge of the cockpit dome. Zam’s appearance changed in a flash, from a human being to that of a gray alien, and then as quick as it had changed she went back to looking human again. Padmé reached for her saber, igniting its green blade and jamming it through the viewport of the cockpit, but a few shots from Zam’s blaster and it was flying from her hands and right into Obi-Wan’s catch. Padmé managed to grab the blaster and struggle with the assassin enough to let loose a shot into the control board, damaging the steering and igniting the engine. The speeder began to fall. Padmé was thrown off and went tumbling onto the pavement at the gasps of citizens out that night, whereas the speeder kept falling until it slid along the pavement and crashed into a duracrete pillar. 

Padmé jumped to her feet. Zam tumbled from the wreckage of the speeder just as a crowd formed, but the padawan noticed and went running after her. The two weaved in and out of civilians in a chase that Obi-Wan followed from the sky above them in the speeder. The Jedi landed the speeder and took off running after his padawan, catching her just in time to stop Padme from barrelling into a cantina unarmed. 

“Padmé!” he called out to her. Padmé skidded to a stop. She was panting and her robes were a mess, her braids starting to fall apart because of the wind. 

“She went into the club, Master,” Padmé explained. 

“Patience,” Obi-Wan replied, “Use the Force. Think. He went in there to hide, not to run,”

“Yes Master,” Padmé nodded. Obi-Wan held up her lightsaber hilt. 

“Next time, try not to lose it. This weapon is your life,” he insisted as Padmé took the weapon back and apologised. The two walked inside. 

The nightclub was horrible. The lights were far too bright, the music was pounding too loudly and Padmé was going to sucker punch the next man that stared at her with ogling eyes and a predator smile. She had already flipped her hair at two creeps that wouldn’t stop staring at her backside, and Obi-Wan had glared at them when he noticed, wrapping an arm around his Padawan’s shoulders to lead her away. 

“I don’t want you around these people any longer than necessary,” he admitted. In any other situation, Padme would argue with her master that she was no longer a youngling and more than capable of taking care of herself, but when yet another man gave her a twisted, perverted smile, she just shuffled closer and looked away, agreeing with her mentor’s words. They still had a job to do. It was best they do it quickly. 

“Can you see him?” Obi-Wan asked as the two looked around. 

“I think he is a  _ she _ ,” Padme replied, “and I think she is a changeling.” Obi-Wan let out a humm. 

“Let’s split up,” the Jedi suggested, but he turned to look his padawan in the eyes, both hands on her shoulders, “be careful. I know you are capable of defending yourself but these people are a force to be reckoned with.” The concern in his eyes was so strong that Padmé didn’t bother with any argument, she just replied with a simple “yes, Master” and the two split up. Padmé headed into the crowds. Obi-Wan went straight to the bar. 

It certainly wasn’t Padmé’s idea of a fun time, hanging out in a cantina filled with drunkards, but Obi-Wan ordered himself a drink which he paid for and took a sip from. The being next to him, a humanoid with two strange antennae sticking out from his hair, noticed the man. 

“You wanna buy some death sticks?” he asked the jedi. 

“You don’t want to sell me death sticks,” Obi-Wan replied with a wave of his hand. 

“I don’t want to sell you death sticks,” the man repeated.

“You want to go home and rethink your life,”

“I wanna go home and rethink my life.” The man left. Obi-Wan took another sip of his drink. Padmé kept wandering the room, keeping her eye out for their assassin, who was slowly stalking her way closer and closer to the bar. 

Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber, and with a simple gesture he spun around and sliced the assassin’s arm clean off. She stumbled backwards, collapsing to the floor as the patrons of the club gasped in shock at the sudden revelation of a Jedi in their midst. Obi-Wan grabbed Zam by the arm she still had and lifted her up, practically dragging her out of the club as Padmé calmed the civilians with the simple words “Jedi business; go back to your drinks.”

In the back alley behind the club, Obi-Wan set Zam back down on the ground and knelt next to her. Padmé joined him. 

“Do you know who it was you were trying to kill?” he asked

“It was the Senator from Tatooine,” Zam admitted with a groan of pain. 

“And who is it that hired you?” The assassin gave a sick smile. 

“It’s just a job,” she snarked. Padmé leaned in close, face stern. 

“Who hired you? Tell us,” she insisted, words blunt. No reply. “Tell us.”

“... It was a bounty hunter called-” a single shot zoomed past their faces, embedding itself in Zam’s neck as she began to gag. Both Jedi turned to where the shot came from, just in time to see a figure clad in blue and silver armour fly away. “ _ Wee shanit sleemo _ ” were the assassin’s final words as she died, cursing the bounty hunter that betrayed her in Huttese. Obi-Wan pulled something from her neck. 

“A toxic dart,” he stated, holding it up to the light for a closer inspection. The assassin was dead, the one who hired her unknown, and the only lead was grasped in Obi-Wan’s fingers.


	5. Chapter Three

The Jedi Temple was as regal as ever where it stood proudly. It was set apart from the rest of the Federal District on its own low-rise district known as the Temple Precinct. The Precinct itself was dotted with small parks and statues, bisected by the Processional Walkway, the long road which led right up into the Temple’s entrance hall. The Temple itself served as the central hub of all Jedi activity not just on Coruscant, but across the Galaxy. It was a monastery for the Jedi Knights and Masters that called it home, and a place of learning for the younglings and padawan that trained there. It was an agglomeration of shrines, temples, academies and holy places which had dotted the area for millennia. Younglings would be seen playing outside, enjoying their youth as they explored the gardens or played Padawan Tag in the many hallways. Padawans themselves could always be found either in the training halls or the Temple Archives, where Madame Jocasta would assist them in their studying. 

It was the place which the likes of Obi-Wan and Padmé called home. 

Five towers rose from the top of the Temple, and one of those towers housed the Council Chambers. The Council was in session with all twelve members in attendance as Obi-Wan and Padmé discussed the events of the night before. Neither Master nor Apprentice had slept much the night before, instead their focus flicked between protecting the Senator and re-braiding Padmé’s hair after a slime ball from the cantina had ripped out one of the clips keeping he braids in place trying to get her attention. (Obi-Wan had helped to soothe any anxiety his padawan may have felt in the aftermath, gently re-doing the braids and pinning them up with precision.) The High Council had all shown their deepest concern for the threat to Senator Skywalker’s life, the uncertainty of the identity of the one who wanted him dead hanging over their heads. 

“Track down this bounty hunter you must, Obi-Wan,” Master Yoda informed. 

“Most importantly, find out who he’s working for,” Master Windu added. 

“What about Senator Skywalker?” Obi-Wan asked, “he will still need protecting.”

“Handle that, your Padawan will,” Yoda answered. Padmé stood a little straighter when addressed, her hand falling from where she was fiddling with her padawan braid. She stepped forward when Master Windu addressed her directly. 

“Padmé, escort the senator back to his home planet of Tatooine. He will be safer there. And don’t use registered transports. Travel as refugees.” 

“As the leader of the opposition, it will be very difficult to get Senator Skywalker to leave the Capital,” Padmé spoke up, her words as strong as ever but through their bond, Obi-Wan could feel her hesitation to speak. She wasn’t the first padawan to feel uncomfortable talking against the High Council, but her point was a valid one. 

“Until caught this killer is, our judgement he must respect,” Master Yoda stated firmly. The Masters all nodded in agreement, 

“Padmé, go to the senate and ask Chancellor Palpatine to speak with him about this matter,” Master Windu instructed. Obi-Wan and Padmé both bowed in respect and left the Chamber. 

Chancellor Palpatine mused over the information he had been told. “I will speak with Senator Skywalker. He will not refuse an executive order; I know him well enough to assure you of that,” he explained.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Padmé replied. Palpatine gave her a smile and patted her shoulder. 

“Your first solo assignment. Your patience has paid off, my dear,” he said.

“It was your guidance more than my patience,” Padmé admitted, but Palpatine chuckled lightly and began to walk away from the window with the young Jedi following beside him. 

“You don’t need my guidance, Padmé, I’ve known you would make a fine Jedi since I first met you ten years ago,” he told her as they headed to the door, “I have said it many times: you are one of the most gifted Jedi I have ever met. I’m sure that you will become one of the most powerful Jedi the Galaxy has ever seen.” A light blush lit up Padmé’s cheeks and she turned her gaze to her feet. 

“Thank you, Sir,” she responded, missing the way that Paplatine’s smile twisted into an evil grin. 

Back at the Temple, Obi-Wan walked with Masters Yoda and Windu through the halls. Fellow Jedi went about their lives around them, many conversing and greeting the three as they passed. The Temple always felt so full of life whenever one took the time to stop and look around.

“I am concerned for my Padawan,” Obi-Wan admitted to the two masters, “she is not ready to be given her own assignment yet. There is still a lot she needs to learn that I haven’t been able to teach her.”

“The Council is confident in its decision, Obi-Wan,” Master Yoda replied from his hoverchair. 

“Padawan Naberrie had exceptional skills,” Master Windu added

“Yes, but she still has much to learn, Master,” Obi-Wan argued lightly, coming to a stop with the two Jedi Masters, “Her abilities have made her, well, overconfident.”

“Yes, yes,” Master Yoda mused, hands clasping in his lap as he spoke. “A flaw more common among jedi. Hmm, too sure of themselves, they are, even the older, more experienced ones.” A pointed look in Obi-Wan’s direction had the Jedi Knight bowing his head respectfully. He was all too aware of his past over-confidence in himself, in the trouble it had caused him on Tatooine over ten years ago and how it helped cause the butterfly effect that led them to the situation they were facing. 

“The path the Force chose for her was not an easy one” Master Windu explained, his hands poised together in front of him but hidden by his sleeves, “but we are convinced that she is ready to continue with her trials and become a Jedi Knight.”

“I don’t doubt that, I have great faith in Padmé as I always have,” Obi-Wan reached up to stroke his beard, sighing, “but I fear she may begin to lose that confidence in herself when she realises just how different the world outside of the Order is.” Master Windu raised an eyebrow.

“You refer to her relationship with Senator of Naboo?” He asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“Yes Master. I believe if she grows too close to her sister she may find herself conflicted.” Jedi rarely had contact with their birth families, and for good reason. Attachment is forbidden, after all. It leads down a dark path. 

“When the time comes, figure out her path Padawan Naberrie will. Trust in her, and in the Force, we must.” Master Yoda told the two Jedi. 

Two droids were working to fix the broken window in Senator Skywalker’s apartment. Outside in the streets many residents of Galactica Heights stopped to watch, conversing among themselves as to what could have possibly happened. Baskets of  fruits and various other gifts had been handed to the guards at the door as condolences from neighbours; gifts which were thoroughly checked before graciously accepted by Senator Skywalker. The Senator himself stood with Kitster in the living area, Padmé not too far away at the door of the bedroom as she watched the droids work. 

“I will be taking an extended leave of absence, Kitster, It will be your responsibility to take my place in the Senate.” Anakin explained to his friend.

“You can count on me, Ani, I promise,” Kitster replied. The two parted with Kitster heading for the door whilst Anakin strode past Padmé and into his bedroom, where his aide was packing away clothes into suitcases. Anakin began to help her, neatly folding up his robes and stacking them into the cases. 

“I do not like this idea of hiding,” he informed the Jedi who stood guard. 

“Don’t worry, Senator,” Padme said sweetly, a gentle yet perfectly painted smile on her lips, “now that the Council has ordered an investigation, it will not take Master Obi-Wan long to find this bounty hunter.” Anakin folded up a cloak and placed it into the case, moving to one of the shelves where he retrieved a holocube and a few other trinkets. 

“I haven’t worked for a year to defeat the Military Creation Act to not be here when its fate is decided,” Anakin argued. Padmé turned away and rolled her eyes. 

“Sometimes we must let go of our pride and do what is requested of us,” she stated simply. Anakin stood up straight, staring at the back of Padmé’s head for a few moments before moving back into the wardrobe. 

“You’ve changed since we last met.”

“Yes, my hair is much longer now. Thank you for noticing.” The Senator stuck his head around the edge of the wardrobe door frame, one eyebrow raised with the rest of his face expressionless. When Padmé gave him another sweet smile, he went back to packing. 

“Being a politician must run in the family, Miss Naberrie,” he stated. Padmé’s expression faltered. She moved over to the window that the droids were still repairing, picking up a piece of scrap metal which looked like it belonged to a protocol droid from the table. With a simple wave of her hand the item began to hover lightly. Behind her, Anakin had stopped to watch, his eyes widening just the slightest. He glanced at his own hand, then shook his head and went back to packing. 

“Master Obi-Wan says I have a natural talent for diplomacy,” Padmé replied, watching the scrap metal as it floated before her, spinning around. She let it land in the palm of her hand. Anakin walked over and plucked it from her grasp, placing it into a small container which he then tossed into the suitcase. His aide shook her head and began to reorganise the case. 

“You speak highly of him,” the Senator observed, folding his arms across his chest. Padmé mirrored his actions. There was a good ten inches or so between the two, forcing Padmé to look up just to meet his eyes. 

“Of course. He is like a father to me; chose me as his apprentice without hesitation,” she answered. Her expression said one thing but her eyes said another, and Anakin seemed to notice that as he frowned, making the young Jedi sigh. “I’m honoured to be his student, truly, but sometimes I do feel like he is holding me back. He says I’m overly confident and unpredictable, which I will admit is true,” she huffed, “I just wish he would give me a chance.” Anakin sat down on the edge of the bed, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his messy hair. 

“That sounds frustrating,” he replied with a hum. His hands fell to his knees as he stared at a random point on the floor. “Sort of reminds me of my step-father. He is a good man, he just doesn’t see things the way I do.” Padmé joined him on the bed, sitting next to him yet far enough away that she could turn to the side without their knees bumping. 

“All mentors have a way of seeing more of our faults than we would like. It’s the only way we grow.”

“There is something we agree on, after all.” Anakin laughed. Padmé smiled. 

The transport that took Obi-Wan, Padmé, Anakin, Kitster and Anakin’s aide to the spaceport was a small one, and most of the trip itself was spent in silence. The Senator mostly spent the time going over his notes with Kitster, ensuring the Representative was caught up on everything he needed to know. The Aide sat there in complete silence, her hood up and hiding her eyes as she stared straight ahead out of the window. The two Jedi didn’t say a word to each other. Padmé wore a long white poncho with a hood that hid her red-and-blue robes, her padawan braid plated into the rest of her braids instead of hanging loose. The trip itself didn’t take too long and soon the transport was arriving at the spaceport. 

“Be safe, Ani,” Kitster said as the three rose from their seats. 

“Thank you, Kitster,” Anakin replied, giving both his best friend and aide a smile, “take good care of my sister; the threat is on you two now.”

“She will be safe with me.” Kitster assured, glancing over at the Aide who stepped forward to Anakin, her hands reaching to grasp his own tightly. 

“Please let me come with you, Ani,” she insisted, her head bowed slightly as her hood obscured her face. “I’ve been by your side since the beginning, I can’t bear to see you go. What if they realise you have left the Capital?”

“Katia,” Anakin hushed, reaching up to pull down his Aide’s tan coloured hood. The dark eyes of a fourteen year old that were glistening with tears stared back at him, a dark fringe hiding the gold markings on her forehead. Her cheeks were bright red and streaked with tear tracks. 

“I need you here,” the Senator told her, his hands on Katia’s shoulders, “word will get out if they don’t see you around, especially down in The Heights. I trust you.” Katia smiled sadly, more tears falling. Anakin reached up to wipe them away, “and besides, I have my Jedi protector with me. She will keep me safe.”

Obi-Wan and Padmé waited by the door, carefully glancing out at the citizens going about their day around them. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but one could never be too careful. 

“Padmé, don’t do anything without first consulting either myself or the Council,” Obi-Wan ordered, face stern and words even sterner, “your mission is to protect the Senator. Go wherever he goes, and make sure he stays out of trouble.“ Padmé nodded.

“Yes Master, I won’t let you down.” 

“You never have done, my Padawan.” Obi-Wan replied with a smile, patting his padawan’s shoulder before approaching the Senator. 

“I will get to the bottom of this plot quickly, Senator; you’ll be back here in no time,” he assured. 

“I will be most grateful for your speed, Obi-Wan.” Anakin responded. The two Jedi parted with their common farewell of “ _ may the Force be with you _ ”, Padmé grabbing the final case after Anakin insisted he carry the larger two. The senator gave Katia one last hug goodbye before they descended down the steps of their transport. R2-D2 trailed behind them

“Suddenly I’m afraid,” Anakin admitted when they were far enough away that no one could hear them. 

“This is my first assignment on my own. I am too,” Padmé agreed. Artoo chirped behind them. 

“Don’t worry, we have Artoo with us!” Anakin told her. The Jedi laughed. Back at the transport, Obi-Wan and Kitster watched the two walk away. 

“I do hope she doesn’t try anything foolish.” Obi-Wan prayed.

“I’d be more concerned about him doing something than her.” Kitster replied.


	6. Chapter Four

CoCo Town was better known as the Collective Commercial District, and it was a dilapidated industrial area often overlooked by many who travelled past it. Located in the upper levels of Coruscant, it was once filled with exclusive stores, restaurants and old-style diners which catered to the maintenance crews and support staff working in the upper levels, whilst the more refined eateries served the wealthier citizens of the Galactic City. Nowadays, the area was frequented by spacers, freighter pilots and hard working labourers. No upper-class citizen would dare be caught there, but Obi-Wan found that the area was home to some of his favourite places on the entire planet. The small, out of the way bookstore that was one of the rare places still selling leather-bound flimsiplast books, the small fountain plaza where schools of young children would visit to study the range of natural flora that grew there, and best of all, the diner that sold the best nerfburgers in the Core worlds. Dex’s Diner. 

The diner itself was busy with most of the booths filled with patrons. Most seemed to be on their lunch breaks, warfing down meals as they checked their chronos periodically. The one WA-7 waitress droid, whose name tag read ‘FLO’, was old with her paint scratched and wearing away as she continued to work. “Someone to see ya, Honey!” FLO called out across the diner, “Jedi by the looks of him.” Over at the small window into the kitchen, a Besalisk with a moustache in a grubby white shirt looked up, a giant grin forming on his face. 

“Obi-Wan!” the cook greeted in surprise, his hands slapping the counter of the window as the Jedi in question laughed. 

“Hello, Dex,” he replied. 

“Take a seat, I’ll be right with ya,” Dex told him, handing two cups to a human waitress who took them away. Obi-Wan headed to the nearest empty booth whilst Dex disappeared around a corner. 

“You wanna cup o’ Jawa Juice?” FLO asked Obi-Wan. 

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Obi-Wan politely responded as FLO went rolling away on her gyrosphere. The Jedi took a seat but almost immediately rose again when Dex came waddling out of the kitchen. The Besalisk’s protruding stomach hung out under his shirt and covered part of the apron. 

“Hey, old buddy!” Dex opened two of his four arms and grabbed Obi-Wan in for a hug, one of his free hands pulling up his trousers which were sinking far too low to be appropriate for an alien not wearing any underwear. He smelt like an agglomeration of different foods, most of which would normally make Obi-Wan gag, but the Jedi just smiled and sat opposite his friend who groaned trying to fit into the too-small booth, chestily coughing as he did so. “So, my friend, what can I do for ya?” 

“You can tell me what this is,” Obi-Wan pulled out the small dart that had been retrieved from the body of the dead assassin. He placed the dart on the table in front of Dex, who gasped and admired it before picking it up into his enormous hands. 

“Well, whattaya know!” Dex sighed in awe, “I ain’t seen one of these since I was prospectin’ on Subterrel, beyond the Outer Rim.” FLO came rolling back over with a tray and two cups balancing on it. She placed the tray between the two. 

“Can you tell me where it came from?” Obi-Wan asked Dex, before thanking FLO and reaching for his drink, taking a sip.

“This baby belongs to them cloners. What you got here is a Kamino saberdart,” The chef explained. Obi-Wan frowned. 

“I wonder why it didn’t show up in the analysis archives,” he mused. 

“It’s these funny little cuts on the side that give it away,” Dex pointed out, nudging the dart around in his palm to show the markings he was rambling about. “Those analysis droids only focus on symbols. Huh! I should think that you Jedi would have more respect for the difference between knowledge and…” he chuckled, “... wisdom.” Obi-Wan reached to pick the dart back up. 

“Well, if droids could think there’d be none of us here, would there?” The Jedi held the dart up to the light coming in from the window he was sat by, “Kamino… I’m not familiar with it. Is it in the Republic?” Dex shook his head, his flabby chin flapping about. 

“No, no, it’s beyond the outer rim,” he explained, “I’d say about, uh… twelve parsecs outside the Rishi Maze. Should be easy to find, even for those droids in your archives.” Obi-Wan smiled and slipped the dart back into the pouch on his belt before reaching to take another sip of his Ardees. Many patrons were beginning to get up and leave as the chronos turned to strike the hour. 

“These, uh, Kaminoans keep to themselves,” Dex told Obi-Wan in a bit of a hushed whisper, “They’re cloners. Damned good ones too.”

“Cloners. Are they friendly?” Obi-Wan asked him. Dex laughed. 

“Oh it depends.” Obi-Wan smiled. 

“Depends on what, Dex?”

“On how good your manners are, and how big your, uh, pocketbook is.” The Besalisk began to chuckle. 

The Jedi Archives was a fathomless collection of ancient knowledge held in the grand library at the Jedi Temple. Built near the top of the Temple Ziggurat, the Archives stretched over a two-story cruciform chamber centered around a small rotunda. The four wings that branched out from the rotunda held millions of books, all of which were strictly forbidden from being removed from the Archives though was welcomed to be scanned and copied. Jocasta Nu, an elderly Jedi, was the Chief Librarian and she assisted Jedi in finding the information they needed. 

Madame Jocasta approached Obi-Wan, who was staring at the bust statue of one of the Lost Twenty. “Did you call for assistance?” she asked him, her hands clasped in front of her. Her appearance snapped Obi-Wan from his thoughts. 

“Yes, yes I did,” he replied, greeting the elder Jedi with a smile. 

“Are you having a problem, Master Kenobi?” Madame Jocasta questioned as she followed Obi-Wan to the computer terminal he had been working at. 

“Yes, um, I am looking for a planetary system called Kamino. It doesn’t show up in the Archive charts.” The Knight explained, taking a seat and tapping away at the keyboard to bring up the map of the charted Galaxy. 

“Kamino…” Madame Jocasta mused, “it’s not a system I’m familiar with. Are you sure you have the right coordinates?”

“According to my information, it should appear in this quadrant here, just south of the Rishi Maze,” Obi-Wan pointed out the quadrant and with a few more taps of the keyboard from Madame Jocasta, the map zoomed in. The area was empty. The elder Jedi gave Obi-Wan a kind smile. 

“I hate to say it, but it looks like the system you are searching for doesn’t exist,” she explained. Obi-Wan shook his head. 

“Impossible. Perhaps the archives are incomplete,” he responded Madame Jocasta’s smile fell, disbelief clearly written in its place. She stood up tall, her lips pulled into a thin line.

“If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist,” she told him sternly, before turning away to happily greet a padawan that came to ask about his studies. Obi-Wan bit his lip. He was never going to hear the end of it now. 

R2-D2 took a piece of bread from the tray aboard the refugee ship Padmé and Anakin were on. The serving droid shooed him away in a very angry tone, but the astromech just rolled on back to his owner and gave the Senator the bowl of soup he had been carrying. Anakim, his mouth full of food, grinned and took the bowl with a muffled “thank you”. He paused and covered his mouth with his hand, as if suddenly remembering he had company and needed to use manners. Padmé rolled her eyes and went back to her soup. She had pulled her hood up to rest just above her hairline; Anakin had done the same, the synthfur lining itchy against his forehead. 

“It must be difficult having sworn your life to the Jedi,” Anakin mused as he kept eating, tearing the piece of bread in half and offering some to Padmé, “not being able to visit the places you like or do the things you like.”

“It’s not really that,” Padmé argued lightly, accepting the bread she was offered. It was tough and tasteless, but it was filling, “I’ve been a part of the Order since I was a baby. It’s all I’ve ever known.” Anakin froze, spoon of soup halfway to his mouth. 

“You never knew your family?” He asked. Padmé shook her head. 

“I have a few memories of them. Just images. Feelings,” she admitted. 

“Do you want to know them?” Anakin asked. Padmé glanced up at him, but averted her eyes quickly afterwards. 

“Attachment is… forbidden,” she explained slowly, not really sure how to put her thoughts into words, “possession is forbidden, but compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life. I may not be able to know them, but I love my family. Just as I do my Master and my friends.” Padmé took a bite of the bread, quickly sipping her water to try and wash the horrid stuff down. Anakin gave her an eyeing look. 

“You’ve changed a lot. You’re not a stuttering wreck anymore,” he commented. 

“Yes, but you are still as cocky and stubborn as ever,” Padmé snarked. Anakin laughed. 

Obi-Wan hurried down the carpeted stairs inside the Temple, passing his fellow Jedi as he approached one of the hundreds of classrooms. A clan of younglings stood around the room with training sabers in their hands, helmets pulled down over their eyes and training remotes hovering around them. In the middle, Master Yoda watched and instructed the younglings in their studies. 

“Reach out,” the Grandmaster instructed, “sense the Force around you. Use your feelings, you must.” The younglings kept at their work, each child deflecting the bolts from the training remotes with ease despite not being able to see them. When Obi-Wan entered the room, Master Yoda tapped his cane on the floor and gathered everyone's attention. “Younglings. Younglings! A visitor we have.” The younglings all switched off the sabers and lifted their helmets, the remotes deactivating and hovering high above all their heads. 

“Hello, Master Obi-Wan,” they all chorused. Obi-Wan couldn’t help the smile he gave them. If Padmé had been there, the clan would have been all over her asking questions. Padmé loved children, and had often said that if she hadn’t been chosen as a Padawan she would have willingly joined the EduCorps to become a teacher. 

“Hello,” he greeted, before turning his attention fully to Master Yoda, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Master.”

“What help can I be, Obi-Wan? Hmm?” The Grandmaster asked. 

“I’m searching for a planet described to me by an old friend,” The Jedi explained, “I trust him, but the systems don’t show in the archive maps.” Master Yoda gave a thoughtful hum. 

“Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing,” he announced to the younglings, who began to giggle, “how embarrassing. Liam, the shades.” A youngling by the name of Liam moved to the windows and used the Force to draw the shades closed, enveloping the room in darkness as a thin podium rose from a compartment in the floor. Master Yoda instructed the students to gather around the map reader whilst Obi-Wan placed a small holomap orb on top. “Clear your minds, and find Obi-Wan’s wayward planet, we will.” Master Yoda instructed. The map of the Galaxy projected out around them, hundreds of thousands of systems dotting the room. 

“It ought to be… here,” Obi-Wan pointed to an empty area of the holomap, “but it isn’t. Gravity is pulling all the stars in the area towards this spot.”

“Hm… Gravity’s silhouette remains, but the star and all the planets, disappeared they have. How can this be? Hmm, a thought? Anyone?” Yoda asked. 

“Master,” a young boy spoke up. Everyone turned to him, “because someone erased it from the Archive memory.” Obi-Wan smiled. Yoda began to chuckle. 

“Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is,” the Grandmaster said before addressing Obi-Wan directly, “the padawan is right. Go to the centre of gravity’s pull and find your planet, you will.” The two Jedi turned to leave the room, the clan of younglings remaining behind as the map reader disappeared back into the floor. The shades rose and the light began to return. “The data must have been erased,” Yoda mused. 

“But, Master Yoda, who could empty information from the archives? It’s impossible, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan questioned, pulling his cloak around him tighter as he crossed his arms. 

“Dangerous and disturbing, this puzzle is,” Yoda admitted, “only a Jedi could have erased those files, but who and why, harder to answer. Meditate on this, I will. Hmm.”

Mos Espa had become a thriving city in the years since the Hutts were kicked out of town. The spaceport became the de facto capital city and the host of the Skywalker Government, named after the famed Liberator of Tatooine who brought about a new constitution and a better way of life for all. Quite a lot of the city had been rebuilt in the aftermath of the civil war, and there was still much work to be done as many buildings still held scaffolding and construction crews worked day and night. What was once known as the Slave Quarters Row, a series of hovels stacked atop each other to hold the city’s former slave population, had been rebuilt into homes where many of those now-freed slaves still resided. One home remained fairly unchanged, a museum of sorts to where the revolution truly began ten years ago. 

Anakin and Padmé kept their hoods up as they walked through the streets, passing the visiting tourists that took photographs of the former home of Anakin Skywalker. As they walked Anakin explained the history of the city and how much changed when the revolution began. He told of the “Founders of the Free”, the five most prominent figures of the revolution, and how they changed the course of Tatooine history forever all because Anakin wanted to free his mother. 

The same mother who became the Governor of Tatooine. The same mother who sat in her office in the Mos Espa city hall waiting for her son’s arrival. Shmi Skywalker was a beautiful woman who had taken to governing with ease. The people chose her to lead, chose her son to be their face in the Senate, and all would vote them into office time and time again. With their democracy still new, there was much to fix, but the people trusted Shmi and she trusted them back. Anakin had offered her a place with him on Coruscant, but she had believed it best that she keep her feet on the ground, choosing to remain on Tatooine.

When the doors to Shmi’s office opened, the woman was out of her feet in an instant to greet her son in a hug. Padmé hung back by the door with Artoo, removing her hood and watching as the mother and son conversed. Shmi appeared to be fretting over her son, checking his face for any harm before he shrugged her worries off. 

“You should have never returned to Coruscant,” Shmi scolded, lightly whacking Anakin around the back of the head. He flinched and scowled, a whine erupting from his mouth as he rubbed the sore spot. 

“Mum, I had to,” he insisted, “if the Senate votes to create an army, I’m sure it’s going to push us into a civil war. The Separatists will never rejoin the Republic if they feel threatened; my best guess is that they will turn to the Trade Federations or the Commerce Guilds for help. And besides, we’re too fragile to join another fight.”

“Ha! Tell that to Thom Jeffords when you next see him,” Shmi scoffed as she sat back down. 

“Jeffords can go screw himself if he thinks that I’m going to let his ideals blind him to reality.” Anakin stated, sitting in one of the chairs opposite his mother’s desk.

“I still cannot believe that after four trials in the Supreme Courts, Nute Gunray is still the Viceroy of the Trade Federation,” Shmi sighed. 

“He is?” Padmé asked, and both mother and son turned to face her. Her cheeks turned a little red as she apologised for interrupting, missing the way Anakin seemed to melt because she was too busy staring at the floor. Shmi looked at the Jedi, then at her son, then back to the Jedi, and finally back to her son. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asked Anakin, who jumped a bit. 

“Oh, right! Ah, Mum, this is Jedi Padawan Padmé Naberrie,” Anakin introduced. Padmé approached when addressed, giving Shmi a polite bow, “she is my assigned Jedi protector.” Shmi got back up from her seat and carefully approached Padmé, who shuffled back slightly as nerves began to rise. The Governor seemed to study the Jedi, looking her up and down with a quizzical look, but she nodded. 

“You are the first girlfriend my son has ever brought home,” Shmi told her. Anakin and Padmé both turned red. 

“Mum!” The Senator exclaimed as the woman burst into laughter. 

“Oh, Ani, I’m just teasing!” she cried, moving to rest both her hands on Padmé’s shoulders, “thank you for protecting my son. I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all, milady,” Padmé replied, voice slightly shaking. Anakin grumbled. Shmi clapped her hands together, leading Padmé to take a seat on the chair next to Anakin before returning behind her desk and reaching for a datapad. 

“Well, let us get to discussing the matter at hand, shall we?”


	7. Chapter Five

The Delta-7 Aethersprite-class light interceptor was a model of starfighter designed by Kuat Systems Engineering. More commonly known as a Jedi Starighter, these ships were specifically designed with the Jedi in mind as it was specifically designed with fewer internal systems and focused on making the controls as responsive as possible to a Jedi’s force-sensitive capabilities. The red starfighter exited hyperspace and detached from the hyperspace transport ring it relied on for long distance travel, speeding off towards the planet ahead. 

“There it is, R4,” Obi-Wan said to the astromech built into the starfighter, “right where it should be. Our missing planet Kamino.”

Kamino was an aquatic planet where storms seemed to be commonplace as the waves crashed against the cities built on stilts above the ocean’s surface. The rain was pounding heavily as Obi-Wan piloted the starfighter towards the large city along the equator. When the starfighter landed and the dome of the cockpit opened, the rain soon drenched the Jedi’s hair. Obi-Wan quickly raised the hood of his cloak but it was almost pointless by that time, the garment heavy as it absorbed the falling water. 

Thunder rumbled as Obi-Wan entered the building, the doors sliding open into a hallway of sleek, shining durasteel. None of that was as important as the slender, towering, pale-skinned humanoid that approached him. The figure had an oblong head which sat atop an elongated neck, with limbs long and seemingly frail. This particular figure wore a band around their head which dangled down at the side. 

“Master Jedi,” the figure greeted, voice smooth and slow, “the prime minister is expecting you.” 

“I-I’m expected?” Obi-Wan stuttered, arms crossed over his chest to keep his cloak wrapped tightly around his body. 

“Of course,” the figure replied, “he is anxious to meet you. After all these years, we were beginning to think you weren’t coming. Now please, this way.” Rather than risk upsetting the figure, an incident that had happened far too many times on previous diplomatic missions, Obi-Wan kept his thoughts and questions to himself and followed through the hallways. He said nothing as the figure, who introduced herself as Taun We, led him through winding, blindingly lit corridors until they reached a room where a similar humanoid creature sat on a strangely shaped chair that was attached to the ceiling. 

“May I present Lama Su,” Taun We introduced, and Obi-Wan bowed respectfully, “Prime Minister of Kamino. And this is Master Jedi-”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the Jedi finished. 

“I trust you’re going to enjoy your stay,” Lama Su said, gesturing with a long arm to the second chair that descended from the ceiling. “And now to business. You will be delighted to hear that we are on schedule. Two-hundred-thousand units are ready, with a million more well on the way.” 

Enter the  _ Visible Confusion _ Meme. 

“That’s… good news,” Obi-Wan responded without a clue as to what the Prime Minister was on about. 

“Please tell your Master Sifo-Dyas that his order will be met on time,” the Prime Minister finished. 

“Um, I’m sorry, Master…”

“Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas is still a leading member of the Jedi Council, is he not?” Lama Su asked. 

“Master Sifo-Dyas was killed almost ten years ago,” Obi-Wan explained. 

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that,” Lama Su responded without an ounce of sympathy in his voice, “but I’m sure he would be proud of the army we have built for him.” 

The… Army? 

“Yes,” Lama Su confirmed when Obi-Wan asked this very same question, “A clone army, and I must say, one of the finest we’ve ever created.” A clone army? An army of clones, of identical soldiers? Surely this wasn’t something the Jedi Council knew about?

“Tell me, Prime Minister,” Obi-Wan began, sitting up a little straighter in the uncomfortable chair, “when my master first contacted you about the army, did- did he say who it was for?”

“Of course he did. This army is for the Republic.” Obi-Wan followed along with the politics of the Senate enough to know that no army had been ordered, especially since the Military Creation Act was still being debated in the Commons and its vote would not be cast for another standard rotation. The Chancellor certainly hadn’t requested an army, nor did Valorum ten years ago when Master Sifo-Dyas was still alive. 

“But you must be anxious to inspect the units for yourself,” Lama Su said. 

“That’s… why I’m here,” Obi-Wan responded with a nervous smile. The Prime Minister got up and began to walk to the door, Obi-Wan trailing behind him. 

The Great Chott salt flat was a region in the southern extreme of the Jundland Wastes, and it was home to many moisture farms. One of these moisture farms was the location of the Lars Homestead, and that was where Padmé and Anakin were heading when they set out from Mos Espa. The entire journey, the Senator had grumbled as his mother all but ordered him to “go home” as it was the safest place for him to hide, but he bit his tongue when their speeder came to a stop near to the pourstone entry dome that sat atop the homestead. The two jumped out. Anakin had removed his coat, claiming it itched too much, revealing his simple beige robe and tunic with brown trousers. The clothing was plain, yet traditional, thick enoch to protect from the harsh suns. Padmé had replaced her poncho with her traditional Jedi cloak, finding the material a comforting weight on her shoulders. 

Nearby, working away on one of the moisture vaporators, was a protocol droid in tarnished silver coverings. The droid looked up when Anakin and Padmé exited the speeder, Artoo sliding off of the back, and proceeded to exclaim in delight. 

“Oh, Master Ani!” the droid cried, “it is so good to see you again!” 

“Good to see you too, Threepio,” Anakin replied. The droid, Threepio, scurried to lead them into the entry dome and down the stairs. The homestead itself was carved into the ground, a warren of connected rooms that twisted and turned. Threepio called out for “Master Owen” and “Mistress Beru”, both of whom came hurrying from the kitchen. A young man with dark hair and a beard and a woman with light hair tied up into buns. 

“Anakin,” Beru let out a sigh of relief, approaching the Senator for a hug that Anakin returned, “we were so worried when we heard about the attacks.”

“I’m fine,” Anakin insisted, “there’s nothing to worry about,”

“Yes there is,” Padmé argued, her cloak billowing in the light wind, “until whoever is behind this is caught, you are in danger.” Anakin gave her a pointed glare. Owen let out a huff of a laugh. 

“You always did underestimate things, Anakin,” the farmer stated. No one bothered to mention the tension that filled their air around them, but having been trained in diplomacy herself, Padmé could see the restraint Anakin was emitting to swallow his words down. 

“Let’s try to keep the arguing at a minimum, yeah?” came a new voice as an older man in a hoverchair approached. He only had one leg. Owen and Anakin responded with a “sorry, Dad”/”sorry, Cliegg” respectively, and the older man just shook his head with a smile. “Lunch will be ready soon. Beru, can you show our guest to the spare room?” Beru nodded and took the case Padmé was carrying, leading her off into the home. Padmé seemed hesitant to leave, her duty being to protect the Senator at all costs, but the Force told of no danger there. She left the family be. 

Cliegg sighed at the two young men before him. “We’re happy to have you home safely, Anakin,” he admitted, “I know farming isn’t the life for you, but we’re still glad that you’re here.” 

“Thank you,” Anakin replied, his hands wringing together. Owen placed a hand on his stepbrother’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back off to arguing with other senators in no time,” the farmer told him. Anakin swatted his hand away, but smiled. 

The Cloning Facility was… amazing, to be frank. The Egg Lab they were walking through was a chamber where masses of clone embryos were produced, each growing at an accelerated rate. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be in awe of the place. 

“Very impressive,” he told Lama Su. 

“I’d hoped you would be pleased,” the Prime Minister replied as they continued on through the facility. Lama Su explained their creations as they walked. “Clones can think creatively. You will find that they are immensely superior to droids. We take great pride in our combat education and training programs. This group was created about five years ago.” To their left, a room of young clones sat in rows with headsets on, each staring at a screen as they studied, supervised by other Kaminoans and a few droids. Every single one of them was completely identical, down to the blue uniforms they wore and the way they acted. None of them noticed the Jedi watching them from the walkway above.

“You mentioned growth acceleration,” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Oh yes, it’s essential, otherwise a mature clone would take a lifetime to grow. Now we can do it in half the time.” Lama Su informed. 

“I see.” In the next room over, a mess hall of sorts, rows upon rows of older clones in red uniforms sat eating. They conversed with one another as they ate, one curious trooper glancing up quickly at their observers before averting his gaze back to his food like his brothers. 

“They are totally obedient, taking any order without question,” the Prime Minister went on. The words sent a bit of a chill down the Jedi’s spine.  _ Totally obedient _ . Did they not have any sort of free will? “We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent than the original host.”

“And who was the original host?” Obi-Wan asked.

“A bounty hunter called Jango Fett.” Lama Su answered. 

Bingo.

“And where is this bounty hunter now?” They had entered the next area. Clones trained in pairs, sparring as Kaminoans observed them. Their forms were perfect. Obi-Wan knew Jedi who would envy said perfection. 

“Oh, we keep him here,” the Prime Minister admitted, “apart from his pay, which is considerable, Fett demanded only one thing: an unaltered clone for himself. Curious, isn’t it?”

“Unaltered?” Clones, geared up in a plastoid-alloy armour, lined up to collect helmets from a dispensary. Each clone put their helmet on and left in an orderly fashion, allowing the next soldier to step up and repeat the action. 

“Pure genetic replication. No tampering with the structure to make it more docile, and no growth acceleration.” Lama Su went on. 

“I should very much like to meet this Jango Fett.” Obi-Wan said. 

“I would be very happy to arrange it for you.” Tan We replied. 

At the end of the hallway was a balcony into a large hangar, where battalion after battalion of soldiers marched. Their actions in sync with one another, all faces hidden by pure white helmets, no sense of individuality to be seen. None of the troopers looked up at the Jedi, at least not that Obi-Wan could tell. 

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Lama Su asked. 

Magnificent, yes. Slaves? Also yes. Senator Skywalker was going to freak when the Senate found out.

After a bit of watching the clone troopers, Taun We left to arrange the meeting with Jango Fett. Curious about the army, Obi-Wan requested to interview one of the troopers for the Council. Lama Su agreed without any hesitation, leading the Jedi to another part of the facility which appeared to be training rooms. All of the doors were closed, but the small windows showed clones being trained in all ways from firearms to engineering to piloting. Shooting ranges with blasters set on stun, flight simulators, training courses in some of the larger rooms. The Kaminoans had truly thought of everything. 

Outside one of the doors down the furthest end of the hall was a clone dressed in the same red uniforms those in the mess hall had been wearing. He was the only one in the hallway, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. When he heard approaching footsteps, the clone shot upright and stood to attention. 

“Master Kenobi, this is Commander CC-2224,” Lama Su introduced. The trooper saluted, “he is a trooper in our Officer Program.” 

“If you have the time, trooper, I would like to ask you a few questions about your training?” Obi-Wan politely asked. 

“Of course, Sir,” CC-2224 replied, not meeting the Jedi’s eye. The Prime Minister had to excuse himself as he had a meeting to attend, but informed him that Taun We would come and retrieve him when Jango Fett was available. Kenobi bowed as Lama Su departed. 

CC-2224 kept his shoulders squared and back straight, even after the Prime Minister’s departure. “At ease,” Obi-Wan instructed. It was only then that the clone relaxed, even if it was just slightly. His eyes kept darting to the door he was standing next to, as if it would burst open at any moment. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” Obi-Wan asked, looking at the door himself. 

“Uh, yes sir!” CC-2224 answered, “one of my brothers, CT-7567.” 

“That’s an awful lot of numbers to remember, do you not have names?” Obi-Wan questioned. The clone froze like a tooka in the headlights of a speeder, like the question was so absurd that he shouldn’t dare answer it. 

“... Yes, sir. My name is Cody... and my brother’s name is... Rex.” CC-2224 - Cody - ‘s words were slow as he spoke, “he’s in class at the moment, but he will be finishing up soon.” 

“I see, well I will keep my questions short,” Obi-Wan informed him with a smile. The only questions he asked was how he found his training and what he thought about going off to war, and Obi-Wan hated both answers he got as they were too precise. They weren’t Cody’s own words, rather ones drilled into his mind. It made his stomach clench. Had the clones been programmed? Like they were droids? Cody’s answers seemed to say so, and his reluctance to admit he had a name? That was another can of worms Obi-Wan planned on answering. 

The door to the classroom opened and out walked a batch of clones, all looking a bit younger than Cody was but probably not by much. Each stared at Kenobi as they passed, whispers muttering between them. Obi-Wan stood tall, adjusting his cloak just the slightest. They realised he was a Jedi. “I shan't keep you any longer, Cody,” he said to the trooper, giving a polite bow when Cody saluted him again. Obi-Wan walked to head back the way he came, but at the last second he decided to glance over his shoulder. A clone from the batch had joined Cody. A clone with blond hair. He handed a datapad over to the Commander, who read over the information with a smile before playfully punching his brother on the shoulder and wrapping an arm around him, the two following the rest of the class. 

That must have been Rex. The two seemed close, as close as Obi-Wan felt with his padawan. 

Moisture farming was not Padmé’s strong suit, something she discovered after just one rotation on Tatooine. Apparently it wasn’t as simple as flicking a switch and letting the machines work, so when she wasn’t watching Anakin in the garage fix up the old bits of machinery, she was meditating or out picking the mushrooms that grew on the vaporators with Beru. The farm was isolated enough that the padawan was confident no one would find them, but she kept her lightsaber on hand just in case as apparently tusken raiders were known to wander just a little too close sometimes. The guest room she had been given was right next to Anakin’s bedroom, so she was always close by. 

The Senator had been brooding all day in the garage as he tinkered. Most of the machinery was beyond repair but he still gave it a shot, seemingly doing anything to distract himself. Padmé just left him be, taking the time to catch up on her studies. She had been in the middle of her Padawan trials when the assignment had come up - not that she was meant to know; her master was secretly putting her through them at the Council’s approval. Padmé was eager to continue, finally able to prove herself. 

Beru poked her head into the garage. Padmé had been sitting by the door, guarding the only way in or out. “I picked these up for Anakin whilst I was at the market,” she said, handing Padmé a small paper bag. The jedi opened it and peered inside. 

“Tapasi Taffy?” She asked, Beru nodded. 

“His favourite, not that he’ll admit it. I thought it might cheer him up.” Beru disappeared again, leaving the Jedi and Senator alone. Padmé got up and slowly approached the sulking senator, lightly shaking the bag to get his attention. Anakin glanced up at first, but then snapped his head around, a bright grin breaking out on his face as he all but snatched the bag with a happy exclamation. The childlike way he dove his hand into the bag to shovel a handful of the treats into his mouth just made Padmé snort in laughter. Well, at least he wasn’t moping anymore. 

“Want one?” Anakin asked around a mouthful of taffy, holding a piece out for Padmé. She eyed it. 

“I’ve… never had it before,” she confessed. Skywalker’s mouth dropped, as much as it could with the taffy practically gluing his jaw shut. 

“Ok, wow! That is terrible,” he told her. Suddenly, an idea seemed to come to his mind. He grabbed a handful of the sweets and handed the rest in the bag to Padmé, shuffling over to the other side of the room where he perched himself atop a crate. 

“What are you doing?” Padmé asked. 

“ _ We _ are playing Tapasi Taffy Toss!” Anakin replied, “we toss the taffy at one another and try to catch it in our mouths. Whoever catches the most wins!” 

Padmé would insist that she hated the childish game, but when she found herself kicking the Senator’s arse by catching almost every piece he threw at her, she wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t have a bit of fun. Though he was grumpy that he kept losing, Anakin had started to smile and his general mood kept improving the more they messed around. He had scolded Padmé when she used the force to throw a piece, stating that it was cheating and that he won that round by default. The game ended in the pair running around the garage as Padmé tried to escape being hit over the head with a soft piece of plastifoam. When she tried to duck under his arm, Anakin grabbed Padmé around her waist and lifted her up, laughing at her shrieks from the sudden movements and her demands to put her back down. He spun her around but tripped over a part of a broken droid, the two tumbling onto their back as they laughed harder. 

Owen and Beru watched from the door. 


	8. Chapter Six

Taun We pressed a button on the panel next to a door, a beeping noise emitting briefly before the door split into two and opened with a hiss. A clone boy appeared, no older than ten, with longer curly hair. Unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing a uniform, instead a simple blue tunic and trousers. 

“Boba, is your father here?” Taun We asked the boy. 

“Yup,” Boba nodded. 

“May we see him?”

“Sure,” Boba eyed Obi-Wan suspiciously, mostly staring at the robes and the lightsaber hanging from his belt, but he turned to lead the Jedi and Kaminoan inside the apartment, “Dad, Taun We’s here,” he called out. The apartment itself was a similar style to the rest of the city, with white walls and large windows, but what made it feel more like a home were the trinkets and personal effects that littered the place. Thunder rumbled outside and lightning flashed as the storm raged on, but Obi-Wan paid it little mind as he glanced around. Young Boba was still watching him, as if unsure what to make of the Jedi. 

A man exited one of the rooms nearby. Despite the scars that littered hsi face, his striking identicality to the clone troopers over in the facility was all that Obi-Wan needed to confirm that the man was Jango Fett, the template. He was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as Taun-We greeted him, and Obi-Wan gave him a polite bow. 

“Was your trip productive?” the Kaminoan asked. 

“Fairly,” Fett answered as he too eyed Obi-Wan with suspicion. 

“This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Taun We introduced, “he has come to check on our progress.” Fett stared at the Jedi, his head held high and a small smirk that was laced with fake friendliness plastered itself on his lips.

“Your clones are very impressive, you must be very proud,” Obi-Wan said. He kept his voice as steady as he could as his mind took in every bit of information he could read off of the bounty hunter, from the way he stood to the tone of his short answers. 

“I’m just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe,” Fett stated. 

“Ever made your way as far into the interior as Coruscant?” Kenobi asked, laying cards on the table. 

“Once or twice,” Fett admitted. 

“Recently?” 

“... possibly.” 

“Then you must know Master Sifo-Dyas.” Obi-Wan said with feigned pleasantry in his words. Fett moved from where he was blocking the view of the door he had come from towards the window, but instead of following, Obi-Wan kept staring at the armour that sat by the entrance to the room. Mandalorian. Blue and Silver. The exact same armour of the figure that had flown away on Coruscant. Bingo. 

“Uh, Boba,  _ rood eht so-heek _ ,” Jango instructed his son, his words half in Huttese and half in Mando’a. Obi-Wan spoke the latter fluently, catching with ease the words  _ ‘the door _ ’ as Boba walked to the control panel. “Master who?” Jango asked, his words now directed at the Jedi, who finally turned to face the bounty hunter. 

“Sifo-Dyas,” Obi-Wan repeated, “is he not the Jedi who hired you for this job?” Fett took three steps closer, stood mere inches away from the Jedi’s face. 

“Never heard of him.”

“Really?” 

“I was recruited by a man called Tyrannus on one of the moons of Bogden,” Fett explained. ‘ _ Tyrannus’  _ was not a name Obi-Wan was familiar with. It certainly wasn’t the name of anyone in the Jedi order, past or present, and not a known alias anyone used. 

“Curious,” Obi-Wan stated. The tension in the room was suffocating. 

“Do you like your army?” Fett asked him. 

“I look forward to seeing them in action,” Kenobi replied. 

“They’ll do their job well. I’ll guarantee that.” The dark tone in his voice brought a bad feeling to the back of Obi-Wan’s mind. He needed to speak to the Council and fast. 

“Thank you for your time, Jango.” Obi-Wan bowed his head. 

“Always a pleasure to meet a Jedi.” came Fett’s response, but each word was dripping in well-hidden sarcasm. Obi-Wan left with Tawn We following closely behind. 

Boba watched the two guests leave. He didn’t like that Jedi; something about him was suspicious and a part of him didn’t think he was just there to inspect the army. His father’s thoughtful and concerned look seemed to confirm that. 

“What is it, Dad?” Boba asked his father. 

“Pack your things. We’re leaving,” Fett instructed. Boba rushed to his room. This wasn’t good. 

Master Yoda always told Padmé that she should be mindful of the future, that although she should keep her thoughts on the here and now, she should never ignore when the Force tried to tell her something. With her mission being to protect Senator Skywalker, Padmé’s focus had been elsewhere, yet as she stood atop the Lars homestead looking down into the home, something seemed to nag at the back of her mind. 

The feeling wasn’t a new one. It was the Force telling her to open up and listen to it, let it guide her. With her training, Padmé had learnt to tell the difference between the way the Force spoke to her, and this time it was telling her to open her eyes. It drew her back to Senator Skywalker; to the way he spoke about his podracing days - a sport no human has ever been able to compete in and survive - and his piloting skills, to the way he seemed to know whenever Padmé was approaching him despite the Jedi always being told she was light footed. Even to the way that Anakin, whilst bickering with Owen and hanging out laundry, didn’t need to look to be able to perfectly catch the garments tossed his way. It was a strange feeling that had first crashed to Padmé’s mind five years ago, at the same time that she literally crashed into the new Senator in the hallway of the Rotunda, only to disappear over time. 

The Force was strong with Anakin Skywalker. Why? Padmé didn’t know.

Shmi had taken a day off to visit her family, choosing to join Padmé from her perch watching the two boys argue. She had dressed down into simple dark grey robes better suited to the work done on the farm, joining her husband out at the vaporators from the moment she had arrived, but the day’s work was done and the suns were reaching the end of the afternoon. 

“You should be very proud of your son,” Padmé told the Governor as she sensed the woman arriving, sand crunching under her boots, “he gives without any thought of reward.”

“Well, he knows nothing of greed,” Shmi replied, following Padmé’s gaze. Anakin and Owen had stopped bickering, instead their conversation seemed happier as they finished hanging the laundry over the water collector trays. A rare resource on the desert planet, which was why moisture farming was such a big business. “He has, uh…”

“... He has special powers,” Padmé finished. Shmi nodded. “He can see things before they happen, that’s why he appears to have such quick reflexes.” Owen tossed a clothes peg at the back of Anakin’s head, which the Senator dodged with ease. Owen had trouble escaping the dripping wet shirt Anakin threw back. 

“He always deserved better than a slave’s life,” Shmi told with a sigh, “I worked hard, gambled on those god-awful podraces to win money so I could buy his freedom, but it cost me my own as I had to pledge my life to Watto.”

The thought of being forced into slavery sent shivers down Padmé’s spine. She had never considered that they may be a part of the Galaxy where the Republic had no control, where their laws didn’t exist. Hearing of a planet rise up against its oppressors and move towards freedom was not something the young Jedi had expected to find on the news. Yet, Padmé stood on that very same planet, next to its Governor, watching the man who fought for freedom mess around like a five-year-old. 

“Who was his father?” Padmé asked Shmi. The older woman froze, averting her gaze for a while before she looked back at Padmé, squinting in the sun. 

“There was no father,” she admitted, “I carried him, I gave birth, I raised him. I can’t explain what happened.”

A child unusually strong in the Force, born without a father? It couldn’t be…

Anakin helped his mother with serving dinner, bringing the plates to the table where Owen, Beru, Cliegg and Padmé were waiting patiently. The two ladies had perched themselves together, Beru fascinated with the intricate braids Padmé had in her hair as the Jedi told tales of her recent adventures across the Galaxy. 

“... and when I got to them, we went into aggressive negotiations,” Padmé continued, thanking Anakin when he placed a cup of sweet tea next to her plate. 

“‘Aggressive negotiations’, what’s that?” the Senator asked. 

“Uh, well, negotiations… with a lightsaber,” Padmé admitted. Beru snorted a laugh, “I’ve been told I have a talent for diplomacy, but every time I’ve tried people just seem to get angry with me.” With the last plate, a bowl of fruit, placed on the table by Shmi, everyone began to tuck in. The conversation was light, bouncing back and forth between discussing the farm and the latest gossip in the community. Padmé just listened, not having too much to say. She didn’t really have any stories that weren’t about her training or about her travels with her master, but the Skywalker-Lars family could talk for hours about nothing in particular. Anakin reached for a slice of Jogan fruit, but with a carefully hidden wave of Padmé’s fingers, the slive began to fly through the air directly onto her waiting fork. Anakin’s eyes widened. Padmé just smirked. 

“If Master Obi-Wan caught me doing that he’d be very grumpy,” she told him, taking a bite of the piece of fruit, “he’d call it a ‘gratuitous misuse of the Force’!” Padmé did the same thing to another piece of the fruit, but this time Anakin stabbed it with his own fork whilst it was in mid air and grinned playfully when he shoved the whole piece into his mouth. The Jedi and Senator were both too focused on one another to notice the way Shmi and Cliegg shared knowing looks. 

“Tell your Council that the first battalions are ready, and remind them that if they need more troops, it will take time to grow them.” Taun We said to Obi-Wan as they stood by the door to the landing pad. R4 was still outside with the starfighter, the rain still pouring heavily. 

“I won’t forget, and thank you,” Obi-Wan replied, before turning to exit the building and pull the hood of his cloak up, wrapping the fabric tightly around him to protect from the sharp cold of the rain. 

“R4!” he called out over the rumbling of the thunder, “scramble code five to Coruscant, care of the old folk’s home!” R4 beeped an affirmative and out popped a communications antenna. 

Deep in the core worlds, nearly seventy-thousand light years away, the small blue holographic figure of a cloaked Obi-Wan appeared on the holodisc that sat in the middle of Master Windu’s temple quarters. Both he and Master Yoda sat on meditation beds, hands clasped together as Obj-Wan spoke. 

_ “I have successfully made contact with the prime minister of Kamino,”  _ he announced, his voice shouting over the winds and rain yet not loud in the otherwise silent room, _ “they are using a bounty hunter named Jango Fett to create a clone army. I have a strong feeling that this bounty hunter is the assassin we are looking for.” _

“Do you think these cloners are involved in the plot to assassinate Senator Skywalker?” Master Windu asked, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

_ “No, Master, there appears to be no motive.” _

“Do not assume anything, Obi-Wan,” Yoda chastised,” clear, your mind must be if you are to discover the real villains behind this plot.”

_ “Yes Master,” _ Obi-Wan nodded, the hologram flickering as the storm raged on behind him,  _ “they said Master Sifo-Dyas placed an order for a clone army at the request of the senate almost ten years ago.”  _ The two Council members glanced at one another, unspoken words flickering between them.  _ “I was under the impression that he was killed before that. Did the Council ever authorize the creation of a clone army?” _

“No. Whoever placed that order did not have the authorization of the Jedi Council.” Master Windu stated bluntly.

“Bring him here. Question him, we will.” Master Yoda instructed.

_ “Yes, Master. I will report back when I have him.” _ The hologram disappeared. Master Yoda hummed and shook his head. 

“Blind we are, if the creation of this clone army we did not see.” he said to Master Windu, who sighed and let his hands fall into his lap. 

“I think it is time we informed the senate that our ability to use the Force has diminished.”

“Only the dark lord of the Sith knows of our weakness,” Master Yoda argued, “if informed, the Senate is, multiply our adversaries will.”

Even at night, Tatooine was unbearably hot, but that wasn’t why Padme kept tossing in her sleep. Her head flailed from side to side as a name repeatedly rolled off her tongue, the visions of a woman with the same dark hair and fair skin as the Jedi herself smiling, blue eyes shining through unshed tears, constantly flashing through her unconscious mind. Sometimes, there were others; a young man holding the familiar woman’s hand, two little girls both with beautiful curly hair, a much older couple with smaller, sadder smiles. Other times, locations appeared. Waterfalls, green meadows, a stone house with a large garden. “...  _ Sola… _ ” Padmé muttered, over and over again as the woman in her mind let out a sob and-

Padmé shot up in her bed, gasping as her eyes darted around the room. For a moment, the unfamiliar surroundings had her reaching for her lightsaber, but when her mind finally cleared, the panic subsided and her breathing evened out. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her head falling into her hands briefly before she got up from the bed, grabbed her utility belt and lightsaber and slipped it on as she left the room. 

The binary sunrise of Tatooine was beautiful, the warmth feeling better than the stuffiness that nighttime on the planet brought. Padmé was still in her sleep clothes - a thin tan tunic she had stolen from Obi-Wan nearly ten years ago and a pair of comfortable leggings - and she hadn’t bothered to rebraid her hair, allowing it to blow in the wind as she meditated. Everything felt… peaceful. As if there was nothing else in the Galaxy to worry about. 

“Don’t go,” Padmé said to the figure who had approached her. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t need them open to know who was there. 

“I don’t want to disturb you,” Anakin replied. A small smile crept onto Padmé’s lips. 

“Your presence is soothing,” she admitted, opening her eyes and turning to face the senator as the man sat down next to her on the sand. They sat in silence, watching the suns rise before them. Soon, the power generators in the room below the ground whirred online, the sound echoing up to the surface.

“You dreamed of your sister last night,” Anakin stated, much to Padmé’s surprise. He shrugged at her questioning gaze, “I hear you through the wall. You kept calling her name.” The walls were carved from solid rock; no human could hear anything through them, but she didn’t bother to correct him on his lie. 

“I don’t know why I keep dreaming about her,” Padmé confessed, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’ve met her… twice? Both very briefly. She said she would love to have tea some time, but…”

“You’re not meant to know your family,” Anakin finished. Padmé nodded. His hand came up to rest on her shoulder, slowly caressing her arm, “maybe it’s a sign?” he suggested with a shrug, “maybe you’re meant to see her again.”

Shmi’s voice came from down below, calling both Jedi and Senator for breakfast. Anakin got up first and offered his hand to Padmé, which she accepted. 

A  _ Firespray-31- _ class patrol and attack craft sat on one of the many landing pads of Tipoca City. Jango, clad in his armour, was busy lifting suitcases on board as Boba packed things away in the storage hold. They were so busy attempting to leave that neither first noticed when Obi-Wan came running through the door towards them until the Jedi had ignited his lightsaber. Jango ordered his son to get on board before drawing his twin blaster, firing at the Jedi who deflected the bolts with ease. Obi-Wan ran at Jango but the bounty hunter activated his jetpack and took off, still shooting at the Jedi who had to duck and roll along the water-covered platform just to evade them. When Obi-Wan got back to his feet, lightsaber still activated, Jango had disappeared. 

Inside the ship, Boba had taken the pilot’s seat and was pressing away at the control board, priming the ship’s cannons. 

Jango, hiding behind one of the pillars of the cityscape, shot a rocket from his jetpack at Obi-Wan. The jedi was thrown backwards in the explosion, his lightsaber deactivating and cluttering out of his grasp just as the ship’s cannons turned to point in his direction. The cannon’s shots knocked him back even further, but Obi-Wan clambered to his feet just in time for Jango to come soaring right at him. With striking reflexes, Obi-Wan jumped up and kicked the Mandalorian backwards, blaster falling from his grip and sliding along the durasteel. Obi-Wan went in for another kick, but Jango caught his foot and spun the Jedi onto his back. It turned out to be the wrong move as Obi-Wan’s foot collided with his helmet, sending him flying at the force of it. More punches and kicks were thrown between them, Jango seeming to have the upperhand when he headbutted Kenobi and knocked the Jedi away. Kenobi reached for his saber, but Jango’s jetpack spluttered to life as she zoomed over, a grappling hook cable wrapping around Obi-Wan’s hands and pulling him away just as the lightsaber slipped from his grasp, rolling underneath one of the platform ledges. 

Fett dragged Obi-Wan across the platform and into pillars until Kenobi stumbled to his feet and yanked on the cable, sending Jango crashing to the ground. His jetpack flew off and up into the air, colliding with the roof of the nearby building where it exploded into flames. Fett scrambled for his weapon, missing as Obi-Wan kicked him off the side of the landing pad. 

Completely forgetting that they were still connected by the grappling cable. 

“Oh, not good,” he cried as he was pulled off of the platform by Fett’s weight with a grunt. Jango managed to dig into the sloped side of the building with help from a blade that stuck out of his vanguard, but Obi-Wan wasn’t so lucky as he slid right off and dangled dangerously over bottomless waters. Fett reached for the release button, the cable disconnecting from his wrist and sending Obi-Wan down, down, down. 

With the cable falling loose, Obi-Wan untangled it from his wrists and threw the claw as far as he could. It looped itself around an antenna that stuck out of the city’s wall, pulling taut enough that Obi-Wan could swing himself onto one of the outdoor walkways. A quick wave of his hand and the Force opened the door nearby, allowing him entry

Jango crawled his way back onto the platform and walked aboard his ship, his head colliding with the closing door that he quickly ducked under. The ship took off, but not before Obi-Wan hurried back out of the building and threw a silver disc onto the side. He called his lightsaber to him, reigniting it only to watch the bounty hunter’s ship fly away.


	9. Chapter Seven

Beru had asked for Padmé’s help retrieving a broken-down droid from one of the further out vaporators, not wanting to go alone in case of a tusken raider attack, so Padmé had spent most of the morning helping to lug a droid across the sand. It was easy, until she tripped over a rock and got sand all in her hair. Beru’s laughing hadn’t helped much, but the farmer had promised to help wash it all out when they got back. 

Padmé rebraided her damp hair as she sat in the guest room, her comlink on the bed next to her with her master’s voice filtering through it. 

_ “How are things, my padawan?” _ Obi-Wan asked her.

“Better than I had expected, Master,” Padmé replied, fingers flicking the strands of hair around with practiced ease, “surprisingly, Anakin has put up very little fight.”

_ “Oh, so he is  _ ‘Anakin’  _ now? _ ” He couldn’t see her but Padmé still glared at the comlink, “ _ it’s nice to hear that you’re getting along. _ ”

“It’s been an eye opening experience so far, I’ll admit,” Padmé clipped her third and final braid back, “how is your search?”

_ “I’ve tracked down our bounty hunter and I’m following him through hyperspace as we speak. I’ll know more about who hired him once I find out where he is going,” _ Kenobi explained. The padawan gave a noncommittal hum.  _ “What’s troubling you, Padmé?” _

Padmé bit her lip. Compared to her master, her skills with the Force were limited. She wasn’t anywhere near as skilled in anything but the basics, and quite often it led to Padmé questioning her worthiness of becoming a Jedi Knight, despite what others may see in her. Despite this, she was adamant that her suspicions were correct. 

“Master, there is something about Senator Skywalker,” she told him, pausing to take a breath, “I think he may be force sensitive.”

_ “Are you certain?”  _ came Obi-Wan’s dubious response. 

“Yes, Master. He’s unusually strong in the Force, and I’ve seen proof of it,” Padmé confirmed, prepared to hold her ground against any arguments. 

_ “I see…”  _

“That’s not all,” the Padawan continued, the hesitance in her mind lacing her words, “Master, I believe that Anakin might be the Chosen One.”

_ “As in the Prophecy? The one who will bring balance to the Force?” _

“His mother confirmed that he was born without a father,” Padmé disclosed, “he’s had his abilities all his life, but because he was born outside the Republic, we never caught him.” For a while, Obi-Wan said nothing. Padmé could picture him stroking his beard in the cockpit of the starfighter, staring at the dashboard as he analysed the situation. 

_ “Padmé, keep this information to yourself for now, until I have discovered who wants Anakin dead,”  _ Obi-Wan instructed. 

“Shouldn’t I inform the Council?”

_ “No, we can’t be too sure that no one is listening. Once you return to Coruscant, you will speak with Master Yoda.” _

“Yes Master.” The comline went dead and Padmé got to her feet, slipping the device back onto her belt as she left the room. 

Padmé trusted her master more than anyone in the Order, mostly because everyone else had been so willing to push her aside. Still an Initiate at fourteen and with no Jedi having claimed her for training, her first mission could have been her last if the Council didn’t view her as worthy of keeping on. The mission to save her homeworld from the Trade Federation became a test to prove if Padmé was truly Padawan material, or if she had just been incredibly lucky in the Initiate Trials. The young girl had resigned herself to be sent off to the AgriCorps as soon as she returned to the Temple, so when Master Yoda approached her with a recently knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi in tow, she hadn’t expected to be offered the chance to train under him. 

Obi-Wan had been the first person who truly  _ wanted  _ her. The spark that flashed in their minds when they first met aboard the  _ Radiant VII _ hadn’t been her imagination. She hadn’t been claimed for training because her master was still a padawan himself, the two having simply never crossed paths before, and the Council had been so willing to leave her fate in her own, inexperienced hands. Obi-Wan taught her more than just the ways of the Jedi; he taught her how to express herself through the colours of and the way she wore her robes, how to create a perfect cup of tea (“You are to  _ never  _ pour the milk first, no matter what others may tell you. Add the water… yes, just like that! Perfect!”) and that she never had to prove herself to him, no matter how much she felt like she had to earn her place as his student. 

A laugh erupted from the room next to Padmé’s guest room when she closed the door. A quick lean around the doorframe and there stood Anakin before a holocommunicator, a figure in a long dress flickering in front of him. 

“That certainly sounds like something Senator Mothma would do,” Anakin said to the figure. 

_ “Yes, I only wish I had gotten it on holotape,” _ the figure replied. Padmé knew that voice. 

“Well, Senator Naberrie,” Anakin continued, “I wish I could help you more on the matter, but unless my Jedi Protector permits me to travel to Naboo, I’m afraid I cannot be of much assistance.” The conversation didn’t last too much longer after that, the senators bidding each other farewell before the call fizzled out. Anakin dropped down onto his bed and his head fell to his hands, a deep sigh falling off his lips. Padmé sat next to him, gently reaching to touch his arm. 

“The Military Creation Act has more support than ever,” he told her, “Sola needs my help but I’m stuck here instead. I’ve worked so hard, and it’s gonna be for nothing!” Anakin slumped himself down onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

Padmé’s duty was to protect Anakin. She had been told to escott him home to Tatooine, but nothing said he couldn’t leave. 

“If you need to go to Naboo and speak with Sen-… with Sola, then we will go,” she stated. Anakin shot his eyes from the ceiling to look at her. 

“Padmé, I’d never ask that of you,” he argued, propping himself up on his elbows. Padmé shook her head. 

“This is important. I can put my personal feelings aside for a rotation,” she assured. Anakin didn’t look too convinced, but he sighed and sat back up. 

“If you’re certain… we’ll leave after lunch,” he said. 

The  _ Slave I _ left hyperspace and flew towards a red planet surrounded by rings of asteroids. Just a few moments afterwards, Obi-Wan’s starfighter dropped out of lightspeed and disengaged from the hyperspace ring, chasing after them. The starfighter flashed on the scanners, which caught Boba’s attention.

“Dad!” he called to his father as the beeping got louder, “I think we’re being tracked!” 

“He must have put a homing device on our hull,” Jango grumbled, “hang on, son, we’ll move into the asteroid field. And we’ll have a couple of surprises for him.” Fett piloted the ship into the rings of asteroids as his son cackled pressing a button on the dash. A compartment at the back of the ship opened up, and a device about the size of a small animal was ejected out into space. 

R4 beeped and spun around in his little port, information displaying on the screen above Obi-Wan’s controls. “Seismic charges!” the Jedi exclaimed, alarms beginning to blare as he steered the ship around the floating rocks. The charge collided with an asteroid, imploding on itself before sending out a wave of bright blue, a deafening sound like one of the seven strings of a hallikset being plucked emitting as far as the wave itself travelled.

They said in space, no one can hear you scream. Oh, how they were wrong.

The wave destroyed all that it touched, asteroids being turned into dust as Kenobi maneuvered around the debris. Another charge was launched, narrowly avoiding the starfighter and instead crashing into a much larger asteroid before imploding. 

“He doesn’t seem to take a hint, this guy,” Jango muttered, steering the  _ Slave I _ into a large asteroid with a tunnel going right the way through. As planned, Obi-Wan followed him, the rocky pillars connecting the sides of the tunnels making it difficult to fly around without bumping into anything. As they exited the other side, Jango flew the  _ Slave I  _ in a loop to come up behind Kenobi, the forward cannons firing rapidly. 

“Oh, blast! This is why I hate flying!” Obi-Wan groaned as the blasts collided with his starfighter and the surrounding asteroids. The shields held for the most part but one shot hit the wing, smoke and flames beginning to emit from the seared metal and damaged wiring. 

“We got him!” Boba cried. 

“Now we just have to finish him,” Jango added. Another compartment opened and a homing missile shot after the starfighter, following its flight path no matter how much the Jedi tried to shake it from his tail. 

“R4, prepare to jettison the spare part canisters,” he ordered the astromech, who beeped in acknowledgement, “fire them now!” Out of the back of the starfighter, two hatches opened and canisters floated out, colliding with the homing missile and setting off an explosion that showed up on the  _ Slave I’s _ scanners. The starfighter did not. 

“Well, we won’t be seeing him again,” Jango remarked. Boba chuckled. Their ship flew out of the asteroid field and down into the atmosphere of the planet, oblivious to the starfighter that detached itself from one of the asteroids and followed them from very far away. 

The  _ Slave I _ had disappeared, but Obi-Wan followed the homing device to a rocky mesa where strange, orb-like buildings littered the surface. Blue illumination banks dotted the outside and lit up parts of the structures. 

“There’s an unusual concentration of Federation ships over there, R4,” Kenobi commented to his droid as he landed his ship behind a cliff, hidden well out of sight. The wind blew cold across the arid desert as Obi-Wan climbed from his starfighter and began to make his way towards the Federation ships. 

Shmi had not liked the idea of her son leaving for Naboo, but unlike her husband she didn’t put up a fight and instead offered Anakin and Padmé her ship. It wasn’t big by any means, only fit for two people and maybe for R2-D2 and C-3PO, but it was good enough to get the Jedi and Senator out into hyperspace on their way to the Mid Rim world. The journey itself went fine. They set out just after noon on Tatooine and arrived as the morning was breaking on Naboo. Anakin had called ahead and Sola Naberrie was awaiting their arrival at her family home. 

“I never thought I’d come back here again,” Padmé said as the two walked through the main plaza of Theed City. Artoo had come with them but Threepio stayed with their ship; something about dust in his servos making it difficult to walk. “This is the second time I;ve visited Naboo since I went to join the Order as a baby.”

“You never visit?” Anakin asked her. Padmé shook her head. 

“There’s nothing in Naboo culture that states I have to visit periodically or attend any ceremonies. If a culture or tradition doesn’t demand it, then the Order doesn’t really allow us to go on travels back home,” she explained. It always felt strange explaining the ways of Jedi life to someone who hadn’t been raised as she had, who didn’t understand their lifestyle. Padmé knew that this was to dissuade attachment to particular people or a particular place, but Anakin’s confusion was clearly written on his face. 

“That just sounds stupid,” he replied honestly. Padmé shrugged. They climbed the steps out of the plaza and turned down a street. 

“When I first began my training under Master Obi-Wan, I was very homesick. I missed my clanmates and my room in the Créche, but I’d always feel better when I thought about the Palace. The way it shimmers in the sunlight, the way the air always smells of flowers, and the soft sound of the distant waterfalls,” Padmé glanced around at the houses down the street. There weren’t many people around but she still had her cloak drawn, hiding her robes just in case someone recognised her as a Jedi. Anakin, who was meant to be keeping a low profile, was striding around with a damned cape flowing behind him. It was a dark-blue colour, nearly black, and matched his sleeveless coat that fell past his knees. The sleeves of his shirt were the same beige as he always wore and his trousers matched. It was strange seeing him dressed up, but Naboo was a place where clothing was as much a part of your communication as words and body language were. 

“I’d never seen a waterfall before my mission here. I thought they were so beautiful.” 

Senator Naberrie’s family home was a stone building with a large staircase that went up to the front door. Anakin and Padmé approached from the other side, walking under the archway of a bridge walkway. The closer they got to the steps, the more Padmé’s stomach flipped. She hadn’t realised she’d stopped until Artoo bumped into her leg, beeping. Anakin turned back to her. 

“You alright?” he asked, walking back to her side. Padmé swallowed and nodded her head. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, “just… trying to work up the courage, I guess.” 

“We don’t have to do this. You can wait outside if you’d like-”

“No,” Padmé insisted, “no, I can do it.” She could, but Anakin did not look convinced. Seeing her steeled expression, he sighed and instead reached out to wrap his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. It was a surprise for the padawan, to say the least, a small ‘meep’ slipping past her lips, but it was comforting, warm, and after a moment she wrapped her own arms around his middle. They didn’t stay like that for very long, but as time passed both increasingly felt as though they didn’t want to pull away. Footsteps clambering down the staircase forced them apart.

Two little girls clambered down the stairs, giggling to one another. They shrieked when they saw Anakin and ran to grab him by the sleeves, tugging them with cries of “Senator Ani!” Anakin just laughed and knelt down to their height, ruffling their matching curls.

“Hello Ryoo, Pooja,” he greeted, “is your mother home?” The girls nodded, but their attention soon shot elsewhere as they noticed Artoo and ran over to admire the droid. Anakin took Padmé’s arm and gently led her away to the stairs, the Jedi watching the two girls the entire time. 

“Are they…?”

“Your nieces, Ryoo and Pooja,” Anakin confirmed as they reached the top of the steps. He knocked three times on the door, and within seconds it slid open to reveal Senator Sola Naberrie. Her hair was tied back in a bun on her head and her dark blue dress was adorned with sewn-in rhinestones. 

“Anakin, thank you for coming,” she addressed. Her eyes flicked to Padmé, and she had to do a double take as the senator of Naboo clocked who it was hiding behind her fellow delegate. “Padmé,” she breathed out. Padmé shuffled out from behind Anakin and clasped her hands together, fingers wringing as she gave her sister a polite bow. 

“It’s good to see you, Sen-... Sola,” she replied, words… timid. Unsure. Sola stepped forward and held her palms out flat. Padmé shyly placed her own hands in her sister’s, squeezing when Sola wrapped her fingers around them. 

“It’s good to see you too,” Sola glanced back over her shoulder, the smile she had worn falling as she turned to her sister, “Padmé, my-...  _ our  _ parents are inside. You don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to… but I’m sure they would love to see how much you’ve grown.” She shouldn’t. She could get attached. That led to the Dark side. 

“... I would love to meet them.” Padmé said. Sola led the two guests inside. 

Master Yoda was in a deep meditative trance when Master Windu entered the room. He sat down and waited for the Grandmaster to open his eyes before he asked what was wrong. 

“Conflict,” Master Yoda spoke, “confusion. Fear. Heading down a dangerous path, Young Naberrie is.”


	10. Chapter Eight

In the cliff face of one of the many Mesas on Geonosis, mismatched and wonky stairs seemed to have been carved into the rock. A cave entrance stood at the top and appeared to curl around inside. Careful of his surroundings, Obi-Wan climbed the crooked stairs and disappeared into the darkness of the cave. Perhaps he had set his expectations too low, but what the Jedi hadn’t expected to find as he made his way through the twists and turns of a stalactited tunnel was a tall, hollow cavern with intricately carved pillars, walkways and transparisteel-less windows, all formed from the mesa itself. The cavern went all the way up to the top of the mesa, a good few hundred feet in the air, and dropped down a good way as well. Footsteps rang around him with every step Obi-Wan took, his guard up but his eyes wandering as he followed the paths around. 

Loud, mechanical clanging began to echo in the enclosed space, methodical and rhythmic. The Jedi followed it, cautious as he went as to not miss any guards or soldiers whilst sneaking over to a small balcony area. Peering over the ledge, robotic assembly arms worked around conveyor belts to fuse together pieces of machinery, the final piece being to weld the heads of B-1 battle droids onto their bodies. Sparks and smoke littered the air from all the work. 

Kenobi didn’t stay for long, not wanting to risk being spotted. A nearby hallway led to a staircase which took him down to lower levels, sneaking around in the shadows before freezing as voices began to grow louder and louder. 

“We must persuade the Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance to sign the treaty,” a deep voice said. From his spot hidden in an alcove, Obi-Wan watched a body of around five or six people make their way down the hall. A human with white hair dressed in black, a big-like creature walking with a cane, a figure who appeared to be more machine than man, a couple of strange alien species that the Jedi hadn’t seen before, and Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation. 

“What about the senator from Tatooine?” Gunray questioned, “Is he dead yet? I am not signing your treaty until I have his head on my desk. He cost me thousands in business in the Arkanis sector after the revolution.”

“I am a man of my word, Viceroy,” the human replied. So it was Gunray who wanted Senator Skywalker dead. 

“With these new battle droids we’ve built for you, you’ll have the finest army in the Galaxy,” came the monotonous voice of the robotic man. When the group had passed, disappearing in one direction, Obi-Wan hurried in the other, following the voices at a safe enough distance. A small gap near the flooring allowed him an overview of a meeting room, where the mismatched gathering all filtered in and took seats around a large table.

“As I explained to you earlier, I am quite convinced that ten-thousand more systems will rally to our cause with your support, gentleman,” the human addressed. The alien Kenobi didn’t recognise spoke in a foreign tongue. 

“The Techno Union army-” the robotic man began, but was cut off from electronic warbling emitting from the suit he wore. He fiddled with the dials on the front until the warbling turned back into words, “-is at your disposal, Count.”

“The Banking Clan will sign your treaty,” another alien said.

“Good, very good,” the Count answered with a smile, “our friends from the Trade Federation have pledged their support, and when their battle droids are combined with yours, we shall have an army greater than any in the Galaxy. The Jedi will be overwhelmed. The Republic will agree to any demands we make.” 

Obi-Wan had heard enough. He had to contact the Council. 

“The transmitter is working, but we’re not receiving a return signal,” Obi-Wan informed R4 as he inspected the dish on his starfighter. He was kneeling on the wing, his sleeves rolled up whilst his hands dug around in the wiring. All of the lights were still on and there was power, but… “Coruscant’s too far, R4, can you boost the power?” The astromech shook his head, beeping a negatory. Obi-Wan climbed back into the cockpit and tapped away at his display panel. 

“We’ll have to try something else,” he deduced, “perhaps we can contact Padmé on Tatooine, it’s in this sector.” The image of the sandy planet appeared. “Padmé? Padmé, do you copy? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Padmé?” No response. The transmission came back with the same answer. 

“She’s not on Tatooine, R4, I’m going to try and widen the range,” Obi-Wan sighed, “I do hope nothing has happened to her.” 

In the cliffs of the mesa nearby, a bug-like creature stalked to the peer down at the starship, watching the Jedi. 

On the monitor, a green and blue planet came into view. “That’s Padmé’s tracking signal alright, but it’s coming from Naboo.” Obi-Wan shook his head, climbing out of his ship, “what in the blazes is she doing there? I told her to stay on Tatooine.” He pulled his cloak tighter around his body and glanced around before turning back to R4 as the recorder whirred to life, “We haven’t got much time.. Padmé? Padmé, do you copy? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Padmé, like her sister, had inherited her mother’s looks but her father’s bold personality. Jobal and Ruwee Naberrie cried when they were reunited with their daughter, one they thought they would never get to see again, but Padmé herself was too overwhelmed to be able to do anything except sit there and answer their questions. She prayed they missed the way her hands shook whilst she sipped her tea, or the paleness of her face whenever they told her how much they had missed her. 

It had been strange. Just a few months ago, Padmé wouldn’t have thought she had a family, let alone parents that started to sob when they met her and a sister who was willing to rekindle the brief relationship they’d had as children. What started off as Padmé simply doing her duty as Anakin’s Jedi Protector had led to an eye-opening day where the padawan learnt of the pride her parents felt whenever they thought of their lost daughter. 

Anakin had been nothing but helpful, surprisingly. It must have been because he was a diplomat, or maybe something more as Padmé suspected. that he was able to read the more subtle of her body language that her family could not. He knew exactly when to change the subject before any awkwardness could settle over the room, even when he was busy discussing politics with Sola and not inherently paying much attention to anyone else. He would bump their knees together under the table, as if telling her “ _ I’m here _ ” without saying a word. It was… endearing. Padmé couldn’t help the smile that spread, the way her cheeks heated up whenever he looked her way, a sweet smile playing out on his lips that looked so soft and -

Ok, get yourself together, Naberrie. You’re a Jedi. He’s a Senator. Never gonna happen. 

Padmé had excused herself about an hour before lunch (whichk, for some reason, was eaten at around the middle of the afternoon on Naboo), taking refuge in the garden on one of the wooden benches under a pine tree. There was more green hidden within those high walls than there was on the entire of Coruscant, plants more beautiful than any she had seen in the temple gardens, and it only made her stomach churn more no matter how much she tried to block it out. 

Why did she feel so content? So at peace with being “home”? Naboo wasn’t her home, the Jedi Temple was, wasn’t it? It was where she was raised and where she belonged, as a member of the Jedi Order. But they never really wanted her. No, the Council had been so willing to risk her future on a mission she was too unprepared for, too willing to cast her aside instead of giving her a chance. Padmé always saw it in Master Windu’s eyes, the way he looked down at her (and not just because he was taller) like she didn’t belong. It was as if he could see something she couldn’t, something in the Force. It had always called out to her, keeping her awake at night as a siren-like voice sung in her ear. But Padmé was a Jedi. She believed in their ways, in the Code. It wasn’t right! She shouldn’t have any feelings for Naboo, for her parents or her sister, and yet…

“Hey,” came a gentle voice. Padmé opened her eyes and there stood Anakin with a tray in his hands, “you missed lunch so I brought you some,” he placed the tray down on the small metal table next to the bench, taking the seat next to Padmé after she uncrossed her legs. 

“Thanks,” Padmé replied. 

“How are you doing?” He asked. Padmé glanced away, looking around the garden with a sigh. 

“I… I’m conflicted,” she admitted, “... confused… scared… I shouldn’t be here and yet…” 

“... You feel like it’s where you’re meant to be?” Anakin suggested. Padmé shrugged, turning away. 

“I don’t know,” she confessed, “It’s all so much.” A hand fell onto her shoulder, a light weight that felt so comfortable where it was. 

The transparisteel door slid open and Sola stuck her head out. “Padmé, your astromech says there is an urgent message for you on your ship,” she said, “from someone called ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’?” Padmé shot to her feet. Anakin was close behind. 

The Jedi and the Senator had left shortly after R2-D2’s announcement, bidding the Naberrie family goodbye before they took off speed-walking back to the landing hangar. C-3PO greeted them as they arrived, but both ran past him and into the cockpit where the communicator was flashing and beeping. Anakin took a seat on the pilot’s chair and activated the message, the small blue hologram of Master Kenobi appearing before them. 

_ “Padmé, my long-range transmitter has been knocked out. Retransmit this message to Coruscant.” _ Anakin spun around in his seat and pressed a button on the console. 

Across the Galaxy, in the Chancellor’s office, Obi-Wan’s message began to play for those in attendance. The Loyalist Committee, members of the Council and the Chancellor and his aides stopped their discussions to listen. 

_ “I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett to the droid foundries on Geonosis,” _ Obi-Wan explained, his blue form flickering,  _ “the Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here, and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Skywalker. The Commerce Guilds and Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku and are forming a-- wait. Wait!” Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber activating the blade just in time to deflect blaster bolts from a Droideka that came scuttling into view of the recording just as Obi-Wan was knocked out of the shot. _ Padmé couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her as she watched. 

_ “More happening on Geonosis, I feel, than has been revealed,” _ came Master Yoda’s voice from the other end of the comm channel. He wasn’t in view, but Master Windu was, and the Jedi Master agreed with the Grandmaster. 

“Padmé, we will deal with Count Dooku. The most important thing is for you to stay where you are. Protect the Senator at all costs. That is your first priority,” he ordered. Padmé nodded her head, her eyes not rising to meet his. 

“Understood, Master,” she confirmed, and the hologram flickered out. Anakin’s jaw had dropped, eyes widening as he folded his arms over his chest. 

“They’ll never get there in time to save him,” he stated bluntly, “they have to come halfway across the Galaxy. Look-” Anakin reached over to the dashboard and tapped away at the controls, a map of the Galaxy appearing and zooming in on a particular sector, “Geonosis and Tatooine are less than a parsec away. We can be there before the sun rises.” 

“If he is still alive,” Padmé argued. 

“Padmé, are you just gonna sit here and let him die? He’s your friend, your mentor, he’s--”

“He’s like my father!” Padmé exclaimed, snapping around to look Anakin dead in the eyes, “but you heard Master Windu; he gave me strict orders to stay here.” And you never argued with Master Windu. You couldn’t. Especially not Padmé. 

“He gave you strict orders to protect  _ me _ ,” Anakin disputed, “and I’m going to help Obi-Wan.” A few flicks of some switches and the ship was whirring to life, engines priming as Anakin slid his seat back up to the steering controls, “If you plan to protect me, you’ll just have to come along.”

It was official: Anakin was going to be the death of Padmé. She jumped into the co-pilot’s chair and buckled herself in as Anakin gor the ship ready for launch. Less than a minute later, they were off into the atmosphere. 

The Loyalist Committee was back to arguing, the news from Master Kenobi having created a rift in their views of how to proceed. Many were still against the formation of an army, but with one already at their disposal, some senators had begun to believe it was time to use it, however illegal its creation may have been. The members of the Jedi Council knew better than to get involved in politics as they simply sat back and let the Delegates discuss, but no matter how late it got in the day, no one could agree on what to do. 

“The Commerce Guilds are preparing for war, there is no doubt of that,” Bail Organa or Alderaan stayed, pacing around the room.

“Count Dooku must have made a treaty with them,” Chancellor Palpatine added. Senator Aak of Malastare announced something in Huttese which made Senator Organa huff. 

“Unfortunately, the debate is  _ not  _ over,” he argued back in Basic, “the Senate will never approve the use of clones before the Separatists attack.” 

“This is a crisis,” said Mas Amedda, the Vice Chair of the Senate, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, “The Senate must vote the Chancellor emergency powers. He can then approve the creation of an army.” Palpatine let out a sigh

“But what senator would have the courage to propose such a radical amendment?”

“If only… Senator Skywalker were here.” Amedda suggested. Palpatine hummed in agreement. 

From the side of the room where he was leaning against the wall, Kitster glanced away. He was the Representative of Tatooine in Ani’s absence. Perhaps there was something he could do. 

The door of the cell that Obi-Wan had been thrown into slid upwards and in stalked none other than Count Dooku himself. Kenobi was suspended from the air in a containment field, the cuffs around his wrists and ankles keeping him there, but worst of all the field was disrupting his connection with the Force, leaving an empty feeling in his mind where it had once been. He had been in there for a while, possibly a good few hours at the least 

“Traitor,” was all Obi-Wan said as the former Jedi stopped just before him.

“Oh, no, my friend, this is a mistake,” Count Dooku insisted, “a terrible mistake. They have gone too far, this is madness.”

“I thought you were the leader here, Dooku,” Obi-Wan stated, his body slowly spinning around in the containment field. Dooku began to circle him, footsteps loud in the otherwise silent space. 

“This had nothing to do with me, I assure you,” the Count replied, “I will petition immediately to have you set free.”

“Well I hope it doesn’t take too long, I have work to do,” Obi-Wan snipped. Dooku huffed an amused laugh and clasped his hands behind his back, over his long cape as he kept walking, his steps slow and rhythmic. 

“May I ask why a Jedi Knight is all the way out here on Geonosis?” he questioned. Obi-Wan kept his gaze straight ahead, not bothering to give Dooku the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. 

“I’ve been tracking a bounty hunter named Jango Fett, do you know him?” Obi-Wan challenged, fake politeness in his voice. Dooku pouted his lips as if pretending to think, his head slowly shaking from side to side. 

“There are no bounty hunters here that I am aware of,,” he replied, “the Geonosians don’t trust them.”

“Well, who can blame them? But he is here, I can assure you.” Obi-Wan insisted. His body was still spinning in the containment field, and it was beginning to give him a headache. Dooku stopped his pacing and smiled at the Jedi Knight, though it seemed sadder and genuine this time. 

“It’s a great pity that our paths have never crossed before, Obi-Wan,” he admitted, “Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you,” Dooku’s face fell, a dismal look glazing over his eyes, “I wish he were still alive. I could use his help right now.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you.” Obi-Wan stated through gritted teeth, an action that made Dooku’s twisted smile return as he continued to circle the Jedi. 

“Don’t be so sure, my young Jedi,” the older man replied with a wag of his finger, “you forget that he was once my apprentice just as you were once his. He knew all about the corruption in the senate, but he would never have gone along with it if he had learnt the truth as I have.”

“The truth?”

“The truth.” Dooku said nothing for a while, his eyes on his boots, but something sly fell across his lips as he appeared to contemplate exactly what information he was going to reveal. Obi-Wan kept unwillingly spinning as the bombshell was dropped. 

“What if I told you that the Republic was now under the control of the dark lord of the Sith?” 

Did Dooku believe Obi-Wan was a gullible Initiate? Someone who had never studied the ways of the Jedi before? Or had he become so arrogant in the past ten years since he last set foot at the Temple that he believed himself wiser than all others?

“No, that’s not possible. The Jedi would be aware of it,” Kenobi contended. 

“The dark side of the Force had clouded their vision, my friend,” Dooku explained, stopping in his tracks to look up at the Jedi, “hundreds of senators are now under the influence of a sith lord called Darth Sidious.” Obi-Wan finally met Dooku’s eyes. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“The viceroy of the Trade Federation was once in league with this Darth Sidious,” the Count continued, but he was betrayed ten years ago by the dark lord. He came to me for help. He told me everything.” Dooku leaned in close, “ You must join me, Obi-Wan, and together, we will destroy the Sith!” 

Ah, there it was. The second shoe had dropped. 

“I will never join you, Dooku.” Obi-Wan bluntly replied. Dooku put up no argument, instead he simply shook his head and headed towards the door. He turned back at the last second. 

“It may be difficult to secure your release,” The Count smirked before he left Obi-Wan in the cell alone.


	11. Chapter Nine

An emergency session of the Senate had been called late on Coruscant, all one-thousand-and-twenty-four repulsor pods holding senators and representatives of the various political parties as the Chancellor stood on his podium presiding over the meeting. Master Windu joined Master Yoda at one of the many balconies, their presences unnoticed by most but never an uncommon sight as Council members quite often sat in on proceedings. 

“... and it’s clear that the Separatists have made a pact with the Trade Federation,” Kitster’s voice echoed out through the speakers. His pod was hovering in the open space as he stood tall, addressing the Senate with confidence in every word, “Senators, fellow Delegates, I propose that the Senate give immediate emergency powers to the Supreme Chancellor.” Shouts of approval erupted all around, senators of all species chanting the Chancellor’s name. Mas Amedda called for Order as Palpatine rose from his seat, the chamber turning quiet, the applause dying down. 

“It is with great reluctance that I have agreed to this calling,” Chancellor Palpatine addressed, “I love Democracy I love the Republic,” the applause erupted again, “the power you give me, I will lay down once this crisis has abated.” Cheering began with a standing ovation, “and as my first act with this new authority, I will create a grand army of the Republic to counter the increasing threats of the Separatists.”

“It is done then,” Master Windu stated to Master Yoda, who gave only a humm in return, “I will take what Jedi we have left and go to Geonosis and help Obi-Wan.” 

“Visit I will, the cloners on Kamino, hmm, and see this ‘army’ they have created for the Republic,” the Grandmaster replied.

Geonosis was just as arid as Tatooine was, dry deserts and mesas for as far as the eye could see. The scanners of the Anakin’s ship gave some details about the landscape, like the surface water percentage only being five percent, and the humidity being just thirteen percent. The place was barren and lacking in any physical forms of civilisation. 

“See those columns of steam straight ahead?” Anakin pointed, nodding his head at the large clouds of smoke escaping from the ground, “they’re exhaust vents of some type.”

“That’ll do,” Padmé replied, steering the ship until it was hovering over the top of the vent. She slowly lowered it down until it was entirely engulfed, landing on a seemingly flat surface right at the bottom. 

“Look, whatever happens out there, follow my lead,” Anakin instructed as he rose from his seat, stripping his dark blue coat off to just leave him in the beige tunic and trousers. He swung his cape back around his shoulders and clipped it into place, “I’m not interested in getting into a war here. As a member of the senate, maybe I can find a diplomatic solution to this mess.”

“Don’t worry, I’m done trying to argue with you,” Padmé retorted, grabbing her own cloak. As they two left, R2-D2 beeped and whistled. 

“My obtuse little friend,” C-3PO said, “if they had needed our help, they would have asked for it. You obviously have a great deal to learn about human behaviour.”

Geonosis certainly wasn’t a hot planet. Even with the sun up past the horizon there was a chill in the air, just barely masked by the steam from the exhaust vent they had landed in. Anakin led the way with bold strides, Padmé following at her eight, but when they reached the door Padmé went first. The room they entered was dark, especially when the door hissed close behind them. 

Back on the ship, Artoo and Threepio were still arguing. “For a mechanic, you seem to do an excessive amount of thinking,” the Protocol droid remarked, earning what sounded like sarcasm from Artoo, “I am  _ programmed  _ to understand humans!” More beeping from Artoo. “ ‘What does that mean?’ That means I am in charge here!” Threepio exclaimed. Artoo blew a raspberry at him, turning and rolling towards the ship’s ramp. 

“Where are you going now? You don’t know what’s out there. Have you no sense at all? Oh, idiot!” In spite of his protests, Threepio scurried after Artoo. 

The hallway seemed to have been carved out of the rock and paved with a metal flooring. The only light came from small breaks in the rock near the ceiling which did nothing to illuminate the alcoves that lined the walls. Padmé and Anakin kept walking, but the strange sounds of scuttling and weird chirping noises slowed their paces. “Wait,” Padmé said, her words calm yet stern as they came to a halt. Her hand rose lightly, reaching out as if to shield Anakin when a loud squawking echoed behind them. Padmé ignited her lightsaber as Geonosians jumped from the shadows, slicing them down as they attacked. Anakin, defenseless without a weapon, went running to the door, Padme close on her heels. 

Artoo and Threepio found themselves caught up in the middle of the swarm of bugs, but they paid the droids no mind. 

With the bugs down, Padmé rushed to Anakin, but the Senator had come to a stop at the edge of a small platform above a conveyor belt in the middle of a droid factory. There was no time to look around before the door slid closed behind them and the platform began to disappear into the wall. Padmé was able to grab a hold of the ledge in the door, but Anakin wasn’t so lucky as he went tumbling down onto the conveyor below with a shout. 

“Anakin!” Padmé called out. The senator landed on his feet in the middle of a belt where mechanical arms welded metal alloys together. The Jedi jumped after him, but more geonosians came flying her way and forced Padmé in the other direction as she fought back, splitting them up. Some of the bugs fell victim to the crushing arms of the machines. 

Large compressors smashed down methodically on the conveyor, crushing molten hot metal onto shaping moulds. Anakin stared at it as he kept walking backwards, trying to stay as far as possible before he too was crushed underneath. He took what chances he had, ducking underneath as quickly as possible before pausing in front of the next one, waiting for the next opportunity to roll underneath. He jumped over the robotic arms that nearly tripped him up, squeezing past welders and flinching as the sparks hit his cheek. 

Padme was fairing much better, but then again, she did have a lightsaber. The geonosians were falling one by one and when she could, the Jedi jumped down a level. It all seemed to be winding around and heading downwards, where rows upon rows of droids stood completed only to be slipped away into another room. 

With the bugs focused on the Jedi and Senator, Artoo and Threepio were able to make their way to the end of the hall and to the door their master had disappeared through. “Oh, my goodness!” Threepio exclaimed in awe, looking around the facility, “shut me down! Machines making machines. Huh, how perverse.” Artoo bumped into the back of his metal leg, making the protocol droid grunt and the astromech beep rapidly. “Calm down, Artoo, I almost fell.”

Artoo’s response was to ram into the back of Threepio so hard that he went flying over the edge, crashing onto a transporter droid where he only clung on because of the way his metal fingers were formed. “I’m scrap!” he cried as the droid grabbed him by the head and dropped him. “This is a nightmare, I want to go home!” Threepio crashed onto a conveyor belt, “oh, what did I do to deserve this?”

Artoo activated his repulsors and took off flying around the factory. 

Padmé swung her lightsaber, slicing the robotic arms of the factory to pieces before they could do any more damage or build any more droids. He jumped over flames from a heating spray and narrowly avoided getting whacked in the shin by a welder. 

A geonosian swooped down and tried to grab Anakin, but the senator was quick to dodge and kick the bug off of the ledge. In doing so, he tripped over a piece of a droid being created and went tumbling backwards into a large, cast iron bucket. It was deep enough that he couldn’t reach the top, the sides worn away from use but still too smooth for there to be anything to grab a hold of. The iron buckets began to glide across the railings they were attached to, sending Anakin flying onto his backside. 

Threepio clambered to his feet, looking around the factory. Next to him, B-1 Battledroids were having their heads welded onto their bodies. “I wonder what happened to poor little R2?” he mused aloud, “he’s always getting himself into troubl-” A mechanical arm knocked Threepio’s head clean off, sending it right into the row of Battledroid heads waiting for attachment. “Oh no!2 he cried out. His body, without photoreceptors to guide it, stumbled around until it managed to push a headless battle droid out of its place in the line. A pointed head became welded to the protocol droid’s body, whereas Threepio’s head got stuck on the beige battledroid’s shell. “Oh, I am so confused,” Threepio whined.

Geonosians shot their strange weapons at Padmé as she ducked to avoid the blasts, not wanting to find out what would happen if she got hit by one. With a wave of her hand, finished silver bodied that were hanging above them on a rack came crashing down to crush the bugs. She jumped up with the help of the force onto another belt, intending to get to the high ground, only to be knocked in the head by a robotic arm and sent flying. Before she could react, a compressor slammed a metal casing down over her right arm - the one she had her lightsaber in - and it was welded shut. She was trapped. 

The iron buckets were moving along in an orderly fashion. Start, stop, pause for about ten seconds. Start, stop, pause for about ten seconds. Rinse and repeat. Each time Anakin managed to get a hold of the ledge at the top, the bucket would move again and he would go falling back down to where he started. The coarseness of the metal was beginning to dig into his hands, the skin feeling as if it was going to break. A yellow light began to shine above him out of sight, growing brighter and brighter, and the sound of molten metal hitting cold iron sent a shock down Anakin’s spine. He had to get out of there, and fast. 

Why there had to be what looked like butcher’s cleavers slamming down on the conveyor, Padmé didn’t know, but what she did know was that she was going to lose a limb if she wasn’t careful. Rolling as best as she could, keeping her body as straight as possible, the Jedi dodged the blades by mere hairs, ignoring how they tore into her cloak and onto the metal trapping her hand. That was probably why she missed half of her lightsaber going flying and getting smashed to smithereens. 

The light was getting closer and Anakin was still trapped. Unbeknownst to the Senator, Artoo had found him and landed next to a computer socket. The droid plugged his scomp link into the outlet and gave it a few turns, shutting off the dispenser of the molten metal mere moments before it doused Anakin in the burning substance. A few more turns and the clamps holding the bucket in place released, sending it dropping onto the round platform below where Anakin was able to tumble out. Geonosians landed around him, weapons pointed his way. Anakin did nothing. 

Padmé jumped free when the cleavers sliced through the metal, narrowly missing her hand. She got to her feet and flicked the switch on her lightsaber. Nothing. It didn’t ignite. She turned and saw the weapon chopped in half, the kyber crystal sparking. 

“Oh, not again,” she sighed, “Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.” The conveyor came to a stop as Droidekas came rolling Padmé’s way, their shields popping up around them as Jango Fett landed in front of her, blasters drawn.

“Don’t move, Jedi!” He ordered, “take her away!”

There was a lot of commotion outside the room Padmé and Anakin were in. Locked in binders, they had been forced onto a chariot of sorts hooked up to some strange, four-legged creature. A geonosian was adjusting the harnesses whilst other bugs stood guard, stun spears in their hands, They had been sentenced to death by the Archduke Poggle the Lesser, who claimed they had committed acts of espionage. It was a declaration of war, not that the Republic would ever hear of it. 

The two had been stripped of their cloaks, comlinks and the remnants of Padmé’s lightsaber, and hadn’t spoken a word to one another since their “trial”, locked in cells on opposite sides of a hall where all they could do was wait as their deaths came ever closer.

“Don’t be afraid,” Padmé said to Anakin, turning as best as she could where she was shackled to the side of the chariot. Anakin looked at her, resignation in his eyes.

“I’m not afraid to die,” he stated, turning back to stare at the archway that would take them to their execution. “I know what it’s like to die. I died with every day I suffered in slavery. I died a little bit with every man who died fighting to liberate my homeworld. And now…” Anakin’s voice cracked, like he was choking back tears, “and now I die a little bit each day... knowing I can’t be with you.”

“Ani…”

“I love you.” Anakin told her, snapping back to look her in the eyes. Padmé pinched the back of her hand, eyes growing wide and jaw dropping as she tried to find the words. 

“Y-you love me?” she settled on. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, and didn’t seem to be what Anakin wanted to hear. 

“I think I’ve loved you since we crashed into each other in that hallway five years ago,” the Senator replied with a bitter laugh, “I know we can’t be together; I’m a Senator, you’re a Jedi. I just needed to tell you before I died.” Anakin kissed Padmé, a soft and caring kiss on her lips. The chariot started moving before she could respond, pulling the two out into an arena just as Anakin broke the kiss. 

There must have been hundreds of thousands of Geonosians in attendance for the execution, all cheering as the chariot was paraded around, showing the Senator and Jedi off like they were trophies of some kind. Four stone pillars stood tall on one side of the arena ground, where a familiar face gawked at the two prisoners in disbelief. Padmé and Anakin were roughly forced off of the chariot, dragged over to pillars where they were chained with their hands above their heads.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d got my message,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I retransmitted it just as you requested, Master,” Padmé responded, “then we decided to come and rescue you.”

Obi-Wan glanced up at his chained hands. “Good job.” Padme rolled her eyes. 

Up on a balcony, Count Dooku and Poggle the Lesser, with many other members of the Separatists, appeared. The geonosians began cheering loudly before Poggle told them to settle down in their native tongue. Once the arena had fallen silent, he announced “Let the executions begin!”

The cheering started again as three gates opened on the opposite side of the arena. First, a Reek trudged out. A large, muscular quadruped with deep red skin and a horn and two tusks. It roared loudly. Next came an Acklay, an amphibious reptilian crustacean with six claws and razor sharp teeth. It shrieked as the picador jabbed it with his staff. The final beast was a Nexu, a predatory feline with four red eyes and sharp quills along its back. The creature attacked its picador when given an electric shock from the lance

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Padmé muttered. The creatures were all forced in the direction of the pillars, screeching and roaring as they stalked out their prey

“Just relax. Concentrate,” Obi-Wan instructed. 

“What about Anakin?” Padmé asked. Obi-Wan glanced around his padawan. 

“He seems to be on top of things,” he remarked. 

Whilst the two Jedi had been bickering to one another, Anakin had kicked himself upside down so his left foot was close to his trapped hands. From a small hole in the side of his boot he retrieved a hair pin, like the ones his mother wore, and once he had placed his feet back on the ground, he got to work picking the locks of the cuffs to free his right hand. With the chain to help, Anakin began to climb up the pillar. 

The Acklay reached a claw up and went to jab at Obi-Wan but the Jedi’s quick reflexes allowed him to dodge the strikes and outsmart the creature. One hit shattered the chain link, freeing Kenobi from the pillar even though his hands were still cuffed together. His prey being on the run only made the Acklay angrier as the screeching continued, the attacks becoming more frequent. 

The Reek roared when the picador jabbed him, charging straight for Padmé, but the padawan timed her actions right and jumped over the beast, landing with a twist in the air directly onto the animal’s back. A quick flick of the chain, wrapping it around the horn atop the Reek’s head, and it was being snapped off of the pillar when the Reek yanked away. Up on the balcony, Poggle the Lesser was not impressed that his prisoners weren’t dying. 

The Nexu jumped onto the pillar and dug its claws in deep, trying to scramble up to reach his prey. Anakin retaliated by swinging the chain down on the Nexu’s head, knocking it back a bit, but it didn’t do much to help as the feline monster jumped up and slashed its claws down the Senator’s back. Anakin cried out, the pain seering up his spine as his tunic ripped. The Nexu jumped back down onto the sand, stalking around the pillar. 

Obi-Wan rolled along the ground to avoid the Acklay’s strikes, dodging as best as he could. Jango and Boba were watching from behind Dooku, the younger struggling to see over the balcony. 

Padmé was struggling to control the Reek in any way, picadors riding orrays either side of her trying to knock her off. In the end, the Reek shook her to the ground and dragged her along, the sand and rocks cutting into her skin like knives as she yelled out. 

Anakin took a risk, one he really shouldn’t have done because he could have died, and decided to jump off of the pillar and use the chain to swing himself around, kicking the Nexu right in the stomach and down to the ground with a yelp. It did manage to buy him some time as when he got back up to the top, he was able to pick the other cuff. 

“He can’t do that!” Nute Gunray exclaimed, “shoot him, or something!”

The Acklay knocked a pillar down and Obi-Wan narrowly avoided being crushed under it, but it forced the picadors away from Padmé as they refocused on the Jedi Knight. Obi-Wan grabbed one of the lances and flung the geonosian off of his steed only to get trampled by the crustacean. 

Scrambling to her feet as the Reek shook the chain free, Padmé reached a hand out to the beast, calling on the Force as she carefully trudged closer. The Reek shook its body but began to calm down, its growling growing softer and eventually subsiding enough for Padmé to take a risk and jump onto its back, the chain wrapping around under its neck like reigns. “Hyah!” she cried, snapping the chains and the Reek took off running, ramming into the Nexu just as it was about to pounce up at Anakin. “Jump!” she called to the senator, who took the risk and jumped from the pillar onto the back of the Reek, hands automatically wrapping around Padmé’s waist. 

Obi-Wan threw the staff into the Acklay’s shoulder. The creature cried out in pain but it didn’t last long because it tore the staff out with its mouth and snapped it between his teeth. With his only means of defence now in pieces on the floor, Obi-Wan took off running until he was close enough to clamber up onto the Reek behind Anakin. 

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!” Gunray screamed, turning to the bounty hunter, “Jango! Finish her off!”

“Patience, Viceroy, patience. She will die,” Dooku insisted. 

Seven droidekas rolled into the arena, coming to a stop in a circle around the Reek and its riders. The picadors kept the Acklay in check, steering it closer to its prey. 

A figure in long robes and a cloak slowly strided down the hallway that led to the balcony the Separatists were watching from, his purple lightsaber igniting at Jango’s neck. 


	12. Chapter Ten

Dooku turned around when he heard the familiar sound of a lightsaber igniting, coming face to face with Mace Windu. “Master Windu,” he greeted with fake pleasantry lacing his words, “how nice of you to join us.”

“This party’s over,” Windu said sternly, no emotion showing in the Jedi Master’s face. Around the arena, hundreds of lightsabers shot to life. The geonosians spectators began running for their lives as the Jedi all took up their defensive positions. Surprise and delight appeared on the prisoner’s faces. 

Dooku sighed. “Brave but, uh, foolish, my old Jedi friend,” he said, “you’re impossibly outnumbered.” Windu scoffed. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“We’ll see.” Heavy footsteps clanked down the hallway as twenty Super Battle Droids marched towards them, firing at the Jedi who deflected each blast with ease. Jango lifted up his wrist and activated a flamethrower, the flames catching on to Windu’s cloak as the Jedi jumped off of the balcony and down to the arena floor, shedding his cloak. 

Battle droids and Geonosians alike began to swarm the arena, charging at the Jedi who all took up action as the battle began. Two lightsabers were tossed to Obi-Wan and Padmé, a blue and green blade activating. Padmé cut her master free from his cuffs. 

One lone battle droid moved slower than all the others, his beige head welded onto a tarnished silver protocol droid body. “My legs aren’t moving, I must need maintenance.” It said. 

A blast from a sonic cannon destroyed one of the remaining pillars, the sound shocking the Reek who bucked its riders off. The three went falling to the ground, the two Jedi jumping back up and deflecting blaster bolts as Anakin scrambled for a discarded blaster. 

Padmé sliced down battle droids and geonosians with ease, the forms coming to her like a memorised dance. It was nothing compared to training, and reminded the young Jedi all too much of the battle she took part in on Naboo ten years earlier. Well-timed kicks and slashes of her blade did the trick, until a sneaky shot from a Geonosian’s sonic blaster sent her flying backwards into the remnants of one of the pillars, her back cracking from the force. Winded, spots danced in her vision momentarily as she tried to get back up, but more shots kept being fired her way and she was stuck deflecting them from her place on the floor. 

A purple blade flew through the air, slicing a line of battle droids in half as Master Windu forced the others down with a push of his hand. He caught his saber with ease, jumping in front of Padmé with his free hand stretched out to her. She grabbed it and pulled herself up. With nothing more than a nod, Windu rushed back into the battle, but if you asked Padme, she would tell you that there had been something hidden behind his eyes. 

Anakin was struggling, mostly because the Jedi were using laser swords that could cut through anything and his weapon looked like a glorified hairdryer, but in the back of his mind he seemed to know exactly where to shoot to take out the droids attacking him. It didn’t seem to want to warn him of the geonosian that swooped down from the air and knocked him to the ground, blaster falling out of his reach. The geonosian had a long pike and it stormed over to him, weapon raised in the air to strike down into the Senator as he fumbled to reach his weapon, any weapon-

A flash of green entered his vision and soon, the bug had been chopped in half and fell to the ground. Breathing heavily, Anakin looked to his own hands where he found an ignited lightsaber grasped tightly. It felt… lighter than he had thought it would, like nothing more than a stick from a tree he could twist between his fingers. Anakin glanced around, checking if anyone had seen him, before switching the blade off and carefully putting it back next to the fallen Jedi it belonged to, hurrying away to grab a discarded blaster and rejoin the action. 

Another battalion of droids entered the arena, cries of fear coming from one battle droid with C-3PO’s head welded atop it. “What’s all that noise?” he whined, “a-a battle! Oh, no, there has been some terrible mistake! I’m programmed for etiquette not destruction!”

Two incredibly accurate shots and the riders of a chariot were being knocked off, giving him a chance to jump on to the beast pulling it. Padmé joined him, jumping onto the back of the chariot. After all, her duty was to protect the Senator. 

The battle raged on, and it was at that point that the Acklay and Reek decided to make their presence known again. The Reek charged at Obi-Wan, knocking him to the ground with a grunt before going after Windu, who had been fighting back to back with his friend. Windu slashed the Reek’s horn with his lightsaber, but he too was knocked down and the weapon went tumbling from his grasp. Jango Fett landed in front of him, finally decided to join the fight, and he dove for the lightsaber. Windu called it back to him, igniting it again. The Reek chose that point to trample over Fett and knock him backwards with his horn. A single, perfectly timed shot to the eye killed the beast, but Fett’s jetpack had been damaged in the tumble and he couldn’t escape as Windu went running over and deflected every blaster bolt he fired, slicing the Mandalorian’s head clean off. The helmet went tumbling to the ground. Boba watched everything. 

“Die Jedi dogs!” Threepio exclaimed, the body he was stuck to firing the blaster on its own accord, “Oh! What did I say? Oh, dear, I’m terribly sorry about all this!” A Jedi forced Threepio to the ground, a stray shot hitting a Super Battle Droid that pinned him there. “Excuse me, I’m trapped. I can’t get up.”

The creature pulling the chariot was shot and went tumbling, knocking Anakin off the top of it and tilting the chariot onto its side. Anakin hurried to take shelter in the upturned vehicle, Padme deflecting blaster bolts back at droids whilst the Senator took down as many as he could. 

“You call this a diplomatic solution?” Padmé asked. 

“No, I call it “aggressive negotiations”!” Anakin snarked back with a smile. 

Obi-Wan was having little trouble taking down the droids, but when they all turned tail and ran away from him, something told him that it wasn’t the lightsaber scaring him off. The screeching from behind him proved him right as the Acklay had returned and it was still hungry. His eyes widening, Obi-Wan jumped to his senses and sliced the legs of the creature clean off, the Acklay tumbling to the ground. As it shrieked, Obi-Wan stabbed the blade into its chest. 

Threepio was still trapped under the Super Battle Droid when Artoo rolled over to him, beeping and whistling. “R2, what are you doing here?” the protocol droid demanded. Artoo turned around and out of a little compartment came a suction cup on a wire, which connected with Threepio’s head and pulled it off of the Battle Droid’s body, all whilst the protocol droid complained. Artoo dragged the head of his friend through the battlefield and over to the discarded body it was supposed to be attached to. 

There were too many droids. The army had surrounded the Jedi, forcing them into a group in the centre of the arena as they fought valiantly. A single gesture from Count Dooku and the firing stopped, all the droids holding their positions. The Jedi lowered their weapons, but did not switch them off. 

“Master Windu!” Dooku’s voice bellowed across the arena, “you have fought gallantly, worthy of recognition in the archived of the Jedi Order.” Stragglers were dragged to join the rest of the Jedi in the circle, pushed forcefully with blasters trained on their backs. “Now, it is finished,” Dooku continued, “surrender, and your lives will be spared.”

“We will not be hostages to be bartered, Dooku!” Master Windu called back. 

“Then… I am sorry, old friend.” The droids readied their blasters. The Jedi raised their weapons. 

Anakin’s head shot up, something ringing in his mind. “Look!” He hollered. 

Gunships dove down overhead, soldiers clad in white armour visible from the open blast doors. The gunships began taking out the droids ten at a time, the Separatist army useless against them. The Jedi jumped back into action. 

“Around the survivors, a perimeter create!” Master Yoda ordered from where he was riding in one of the gunships. As they landed, the soldiers jumped into the fight and surrounded the Jedi, providing them time to jump into the safety of the ships that would carry them from the arena. Dooku watched the Jedi escape before he turned and stalked away with a flash of his cape. 

When the arena fell silent, Boba crept down onto the littered battlefield and knelt by his father’s helmet, cradling it in his hands and pressing it to his forehead. 

The battle was fat from over.  _ Victory _ -class Star Destroyers had entered the planet’s atmosphere and were beginning to land on the ground as more and more ships flew to join those already in the air. Aboard one gunship, Master Yoda turned to Master Windu. “If Dooku escapes, rally more systems to his cause, he will.” The Grandmaster shouted over the howl of the wind. 

The gunships weaved in and out of the droid Battlespheres, their cannons having little effect on the outer layers of durasteel. “Aim right above the fuel cells!” Anakin called out to the gunners, who followed his orders and shot missiles directly above the fuel cells keeping the ships in place.

“Good call!” Obi-Wan praised. 

On the ground, Jedi began leading clone troopers into battle, squadrons following behind Knights and Masters to take on the army ahead of them. Ships were being shot down one by one. 

“Pilot!” Master Windu shouted over the wind, “land in that assembly area!”

“Yes Sir!” the pilot responded, steering his ship down to allow Masters Windu, Fisto and Mundi to jump off. They joined the fight, whereas Master Yoda ordered the gunship to take him to the forward command centre. The battlefield was a mess. As many clones fell as droids did, their bodies littering the field as they rushed on to do their duty. The Separatists had spider droids and Droidekas which made light work of individual troopers, but the clones proved very quickly to be superior as their tactics defeated wave after wave. AT-TE’s were being deployed by dropships. It was a massacre, to put it lightly. 

Deep in the Separatists control centre, Dooku, Gunray and Poggle watched as the Republic’s new Clone Army began to wipe out their droids. A holomap of the active battlefield displayed every move made out on the desert, and every loss they had. 

“The Jedi have amassed a huge army!” Nute Gunrey cried

“That doesn’t seem possible,” Dooku responded, “how did the Jedi come up with an army so quickly?”

“This is not looking good at all!” Gunray exclaimed. His aide urged him to order all their starships into the air, and the two left. Poggle chattered away to Dooku, slamming his cane on the ground in anger.

“My master will not allow the Republic to get away with this treachery,” the Count stated, walking around the holotable to Poggle’s side as the Archduke took a datadisc from a computer terminal. He handed the disc to Dooku, who promised to take the designs with him to Coruscant, stating they would be much safer there with his master. A press of a button and the red hologram of a round, planet-like space station with a concave disc on one side appeared. 

Master Yoda’s gunship landed at the forward command centre, where a clone trooper with yellow markings on his armor greeted him. “Master Yoda, all forward positions are advancing,” the soldier informed as the Grandmaster went trudging down the small ramp. 

“Very good. Very good,” he replied. 

Ion laser cannons shot at a droid starship, sending it crashing to the ground. A cloud of dust shot out from all sides, engulfing the entire battle field and leaving the droids bling as the clone troopers started to gain the upper hand. Up in the sky, the gunship that Obi-Wan, Padmé and Anakin had hopped on to was still soaring. 

“Look over there!” Obi-Wan pointed. A speeder was being flanked by two small starfighters, Count Dooku’s cape flowing out behind it. 

“It’s Dooku. Shoot him down!” Padmé ordered, but the pilot informed her that they were out of rockets. “Then follow him!”

“We’re gonna need some help!” Anakin told the Jedi, but Obi-Wan shook his head. 

“There’s no time! Padmé and I can handle this,” he argued. The two starfighters noticed their tail and split off, swerving around to form up behind the Republic gunship where their cannon fire began to rock the wings. One blast hit hard and Padmé lost her footing. She would have fallen from the ship if Anakin hadn’t reached for her hand, pulling her back on board just in time. Obi-Wan eyed him, and the way the Senator kept an arm wrapped around his padawan’s waist even after Padmé had grabbed a hold of the handrail above her. 

A frown formed over Master Yoda’s face, his thoughts elsewhere as the clone commander next to him informed him of the droid army’s retreat. “Well done, Commander. Bring me a ship,” he instructed. 

Dooku’s speeder disappeared into a cave in the wall of a mesa. With the starfighters still on their tail, Obi-Wan and Padmé jumped from the gunship, lightsabers ignited. Anakin followed, his “borrowed” blaster at the ready, but before the clones could follow the gunship was destroyed and the starfighters flew away. “Stay here and guard the entrance!” Obi-Wan told Anakin, who nodded and stayed on the landing platform as the Jedi ran inside. 

The hangar was dark with dim spotlights hanging from the ceiling. A small ship sat waiting with its ramp down, but Dooku was ordering around a droid when Obi-Wan and Padmé entered the room. The droid scurried onto the ship. Dooku placed a hand on the curved hilt of his lightsaber where it rested on his belt. 

“You’re going to pay for all the Jedi that you killed today, Dooku,” Padmé said loudly. 

“We’ll take him together. You go in slowly on the left,” Obi-Wan instructed in a hushed whisper. Padmé did as instructed, slowly making her way to Dooku’s left. 

“It’s over, Dooku,” Obi-Wan told the Count, beginning to approach the former Jedi. Dooku just smirked. 

“Is it?” he replied, raising his hand in Padmé’s direction. Lightning shot out of his fingertips, and before she could react Padmé was being thrown backwards with a cry of pain as electricity coursed through her body. 

“Padmé!” Obi-Wan howled as his padawan fell into a pile on the floor. He raised his lightsaber at Dooku, the two circling one another in the empty hangar. 

“As you see, my Jedi powers are far beyond yours,” Dooku explained, one hand still on his lightsaber hilt, “now… back down.” More lightning shot from his fingers, but it his Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and was absorbed into the blade

“I don’t think so,” came Obi-Wan’s reply. Dooku drew his weapon, red illuminating beside him. 

The fight probably went south when Obi-Wan attacked first. The blades crashed together in flashes of purple, every blow being blocked with ease as the fighting technique Obi-Wan had been taught was the same one Dooku had taught to Obi-Wan’s former master, Qui-Gon Jinn. Each move Obi-Wan made, Dooku simply deflected against it with one hand behind his back in his arrogance. 

“Master Kenobi, you disappoint me,” Dooku said, “Yoda holds you in such high esteem.” Their blades clashed again, “surely you can do better!” he taunted, a malicious grin on his face. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and pushed back, jumping out of the way of Dooku’s saber. It must have been the determination to end the way before it truly began that blinded Obi-Wan to Dooku’s actions, as the duel didn’t last too much longer. Dooku managed to slice at Obi-Wan’s upper arm with his saber, his grandpadawan exclaiming in pain and dropping his weapon. Another slice, this time to the thigh, and Obi-Wan was down. 

Dooku raised his weapon to strike Obi-Wan, but a green blade jumped in between them as Padmé had gotten to her feet and hurried to protect her master. “Brave of you, child,” the Count admired, “but a very foolish action.”

“Well, I am a slow learner,” Padmé snipped. Obi-Wan, still in immense pain, managed to call his saber to him and toss it up at his padawan, who caught it with ease and proceeded to duel the Count, leading him far from her master. Duel saber wielding was never Padmé’s strong suit, but she knew enough to hold her own until Dooku managed to slice the saber in half. In retaliation, Padmé cut through the power cable that controlled the lights, making them flicker. Blue crashed against red once more, the fight not entirely evenly matched despite Padmé’s skill. Defeat soon came for the padawan as Dooku, the more experienced and far more trained of the two, sliced Padmé’s right arm off just below the elbow and sent her flying backwards with a push of the force. Padmé’s head collided with her master’s boots. Obi-Wan tried to reach for her but the pain was too great. Dooku switched his saber off. 

A hand reached down and picked up the discarded lightsaber, footsteps echoing in the enclosed space.


	13. Chapter Eleven

Something was wrong. A name or face couldn’t be put to the voice but it told Anakin to “ _ go inside _ ”. It was the same voice that had been there all his life, guiding him, helping him, and Anakin wasn’t about to ignore it now. When the voice told him to go inside, he did, just in time to watch Count Dooku push Padmé backwards. She and Obi-Wan were down. Dooku had won. He was going to escape. The war would rage on. 

“ _ Pick up the blade, _ ” the voice instructed, its words soft, gentle. Like when his mother would sing him lullabies. Anakin picked up the lightsaber hilt and walked further into the room, each footstep as loud as the pounding in his ears. 

Dooku spun around when he heard someone approach. At first, surprise flicked across his face, but it was soon replaced with something mixed between sympathy and disappointment. 

“Senator Skywalker,” the Count began, taking a few small, slow steps towards Anakin, “that weapon is not one to be used lightly.” Anakin didn’t move, lips drawn into a tight line. He was a politician; he knew how to hide his fear behind fake confidence, “please, Senator, let’s not make this fight go on any longer. Put the lightsaber down, and we can all leave this place alive.” Dooku still had his own saber in hand, but his arms were gesturing openly as if inviting Anakin to accept his offer and stand down. 

“I can’t do that, Count,” Anakin responded, voice steady. Dooku’s head fell briefly, like he was nodding in understanding. 

“Then I apologise, Senator,” he said, igniting the red blade, “but you will die.” 

Anakin only had a mere second to switch on the blue blade and defend himself, but like it always had him the voice in his head guided his movements. During the Revolutionary war, Anakin had fought with a staff as well as a blaster and knew much about form and positioning, his moves coming firm yet calculated. The voice told him when to duck, when to block, when to strike. He could feel the already light blade getting even lighter in his hands, twirling with ease despite the power it held. 

Obi-Wan watched Anakin fight, eyes gawking as a Senator with no previous lightsaber training held his own against a powerful adversary. He struggled to push himself up, but managed to shuffle so he could reach for the hand Padmé still had and hold it tightly. 

It was no surprise that Anakin wouldn’t be able to hold his own for long. He put up a great fight but in the end, Dooku got the upperhand. He knocked the blade from Anakin’s grip and slashed his red saber upwards, the tip just grazing over the senator’s right eye. Anakin cried out and Dook kicked him backwards. 

Dooku reached a hand towards one of the bits of machinery on the wall of the hangar. He ripped it from its holding, but instead of throwing it at Anakin or at Obi-Wan and Padmé, he threw it backwards. Master Yoda dropped his staff in time to catch the machinery and force it away where it wouldn’t cause any damage. “You have interfered with our affairs for the last time,” Dooku said. He ripped another piece of machinery from the wall, once again throwing it at the Grandmaster who simply tossed it away. Master Yoda growled. Dooku reached both his hands up, and suddenly the ceiling began to crumble, but even this was not enough to stop Master Yoda. 

“Powerful you have become, Dooku,” the small Jedi said, “the dark side, I sense in you. 

“I have become more powerful than any Jedi,” the Count responded, raising a hand at the Grandmaster, “even you.” Lightning shot from his fingertips, but Master Yoda caught it in his own hands. A blue orb briefly appeared before it was shot right back at Dooku, who only just managed to deflect it away. 

“Much to learn, you still have,” Master Yoda stated. 

“It is obvious that this contest cannot be decided with our knowledge of the Force,” Dooku’s red blade whirred to life, “but by our skills with a lightsaber.”

For such a small, old Jedi you would expect Master Yoda to be lacking in physical abilities, and yet any overconfident swordsman would find themselves at the Grandmaster’s mercy within a minute of the duel commencing. What Master Yoda lacked in size he made up for in skill as he jumped around the room, his green blade blocking every strike Dooku threw his way. For a spectator, it would be an awe-inspiring fight to see. 

Obi-Wan was the only one watching. Padmé was still quite out of it and Anakin was too exhausted from his own brief fight. 

“Fought well you have, my old padawan,” Master Yoda said when their blades locked together. 

“This is just the beginning,” Dooku responded. He reached a hand out and a tall metal pillar began to crumble, falling towards Obi-Wan and Padmé. Master Yoda reacted quickly and caught the pillar, forcing it backwards to save the two Jedi from further injury, but Dooku used this time to scamper aboard his ship and escape. The clang the pillar made as it crashed to the floor behind the Jedi was enough to wake Padmé from her daze. 

Master Yoda picked up his cane and shuffled over to the injured Senator, who was scrambling to his feet with one hand covering his eye. Despite the pain Anakin hurried to kneel next to Obi-Wan and Padmé, helping the latter to her feet as a squadron of clone troopers came running into the room with their weapons drawn. 

The Solar Sailer made its way into Coruscant airspace, drifting down into the atmosphere and glazing over the city. It was late in the day and traffic had started to die down just the slightest, but this ship was far from civilisation as it came to land in The Works, the abandoned industrial area of the city planet. The factories had long been left untouched, businesses moving their workers elsewhere as Coruscant land became too expensive, but they provided a perfect place for Count Dooku to meet with his master. 

When the ship landed inside a tall building, Dooku descended its ramp and bowed to his master. “The Force is with us, Master Sidious,” he greeted. 

“Welcome home, Lord Tyrannus,” Sidious responded. His face was almost completely obscured by the dark hood of his robes, “you have done well.”

“I have good news for you, my Lord,” Dooku announced as the two began to walk together, “the war has begun.” 

“Excellent. Everything is going as planned.”

The sun was setting over the Jedi Temple, dusk falling rapidly as the city continued to work on. Obi-Wan watched the sun set from the empty Council chambers, high at the top of the tower it sat on. “Do you believe what Count Dooku said about Sidious controlling the senate?” he asked, “it doesn’t feel right.”

“Joined the dark side, Dooku has,” Master Yoda replied from his Council seat, “Hmm, lies, deceit, creating mistrust are his ways now.”

“Nethertheless,” Master Windu spoke. He stood next to Obi-Wan at the window, “I feel we should keep a closer eye on the senate.” Master Yoda agreed. Windu turned back to Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed, “where is Padmé?” he asked. 

“Escorting Senator Skywalker from the medical centre to his apartment,” Obi-Wan explained, looking back out of the window for a moment. “I have to admit that without the clones it would not have been a victory.”

“Victory?” Master Yoda questioned with something akin to disbelief in his voice, “Victory, you say? Master Obi-Wan, not victory.” The Grandmaster sighed, shaking his head, “the shroud of the dark side has fallen. Begun, the Clone War has.”

A silence fell in the room, until Master Windu excused himself to go and check on the Jedi who survived the battle. Obi-Wan went to leave as well, but Master Yoda asked him to stay. The smaller Jedi jumped down from his chair and approached the Knight, beckoning for him to sit down on the floor by the window with him. Obi-Wan did as instructed. 

“A great power I sense in Senator Skywalker,” Master Yoda told Kenobi. His voice was much quieter, words a hushed whisper. 

“Padmé sensed it too whilst on Tatooine,” Obi-Wan informed, “and I noticed when he was able to duel Dooku for so long with such ease.” Kenobi’s hand came to rest over the area where Dooku’s lightsaber had sliced him, feeling the edges of the bandages wrapped tightly under his trousers. It had been a painful journey back to the temple, though nothing compared to what his padawan had gone through. 

“Master…” Obi-Wan began, but he paused and tried to figure out exactly what to say, “Master, Padmé believes Anakin may be the Chosen One.” Master Yoda’s eyebrow raised, so Obi-Wan hurried to explain, “his mother confirmed that there was never a father, and that he had been using the force since childhood without realising it.”

Master Yoda mused over the information he had been given, a hand reaching up to scratch his chin. He hummed thoughtfully and nodded his head. 

“Surprising information, this is,” he agreed, “meditate on this, I will.”


	14. Chapter Twelve

Company upon company upon company of clone troopers lined up in Coruscant’s new Military District. Old warehouses that hadn’t been used in decades were quickly refurbished into barracks and command centres, landing strips upgraded for military-grade ships and machinery, and hangers formed to house hundreds of starfighters. The first star destroyers took off, carrying soldiers out onto what would soon become battlefields in the Republic’s fight against the Confederacy of Independent Systems. 

Chancellor Palpatine stood with the members of the Loyalist Committee, of the people who had never wanted a war to begin with, watching as the Grand Army of the Republic went off to do battle. The sun was setting over Coruscant, just as it soon would over the Republic itself. 

A few districts over, at the top floor of a tall yet fairly rundown apartment building, two figures carefully exited the elevator. Padmé had changed into fresh red and blue robes, her hair no longer coated in dust and dirt, but now she wore a glove on her left hand. It matched the black of the metal on her new mechanical right arm, a permanent reminder of her battle against Dooku. Anakin had a bacta patch over his right eye, secured in place with bandages which would need to be removed within the next hour. The medical droid had said his sight would return within a few days, leaving nothing but a scar and possibly some lingering pain if accidentally knocked. Katia had brought him a fresh change of simple tan robes to replace his ones that had been ripped to shreds in the arena, and had embraced the man she saw as her older brother with tears streaming down her cheeks. She had already retired for the night, leaving Padmé to escort Anakin back to his home. 

The two made their way down the hall, Padmé careful to steer Anakin away from any obstacles he couldn’t quite see. She unlocked the door with the passcode he gave her and they went inside, heading straight to the sofa where Anakin plopped himself down with a grunt. 

“We’ll need to change those bandages before you go to bed,” Padmé informed, sitting down on his good side so he could still see her. She reached her real hand up to inspect his eye, checking for any damage that might have been missed. Anakin reached to place a hand over her own, but the Jedi pulled away. 

“Padmé…” Anakin began, but trailed off. Padmé looked away. 

“I love you,” she said, praying her voice didn’t break as she spoke, “but I can’t go against the Code.” Attachment was forbidden, she knew this. Padmé was bending that rule as is having met her family. She was toeing the line, teetering on the edge that she couldn’t jump off. 

“We could keep it a secret,” Anakin told her. 

“But we’d be living a lie,” Padmé argued, “it could destroy us.” Anakin took her hands, real and fake, in his own. 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said. The emotion in his eyes was sraw, so pure. Nothing but love and longing, barely restrained desire. 

Padmé looked at her feet. 

“I don’t know if I can do it.” Anakin’s face fell at her admission.

Every part of her mind was screaming at her. It told her to leave, to block the feelings out. Her mind told her no.

“But I’m willing to try.” 

The force told her Yes. 

Anakin snapped his eyes to Padmé’s. She smiled, small, timid, but genuine. Padmé leaned in and kissed Anakin, who happily kissed back. In that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them. Like nothing else existed. 

A dangerous path lay ahead, one with many obstacles that wouldn’t be so easy to overcome, but something sparked that evening. Something they would need if they were going to survive the journey laid out before them. 

Hope. 


End file.
